Shiver
by RapidEyeMovement
Summary: Batman has to contend with two powerful new villains, both motivated by love: Mr. Freeze and the Mad Hatter.
1. Cold Vengeance

**BATMAN: SHIVER**

Chapter I

"Cold Vengeance"

_Three years ago…_

Doctor Victor Fries took a deep breath and watched as the expelled air from his lungs became a visible mist in the cool air of the cryogenic laboratory. This particular section of Wayne Enterprises had been shut down for maintenance due to faulty electronics, but that was of no importance to Victor. Only one thing matter to him now.

Nora.

Victor placed his hand against the frosted-over glass of her suspension chamber and watched his beloved sleep the deepest sleep known to science. The chamber kept her disease-ravaged body in cryonic suspension, meaning that the sickness infecting her would spread much more slowly through her systems, but at the cost of her consciousness.

When Nora had been diagnosed with the terminal and untreatable Schivell's Disease last year, Victor vowed to find a cure before it could take the only person he ever loved from him. Knowing his wife had precious little time, he had her removed from Gotham General Hospital, telling her doctors that she was being taken into private care. This was partly true.

Besides himself, the only person who knew of Nora's true whereabouts was Lucius Fox. Victor and Lucius were old friends, having both worked at Wayne Enterprises for years. Fox had even been on the board when Thomas Wayne had run things. But since Wayne's death, and the mysterious disappearance of his son, the untrustworthy Bill Earle had been in charge, and Lucius had been relegated to "Applied Sciences", a fancy name for a dead end.

But Fox's genius had not dwindled all these years and today he knew the company better than anyone. It was he who had quietly rerouted enough power to this disused lab, yet still managed to keep it off the radar. Lucius, ever the golden hearted, had many times attempted to "reason" with Victor and put him off his "fruitless" search for a cure. But Victor was beyond logic now.

At first, he would perhaps have admitted his efforts were in vain, but now, after nearly a year, he had made a small step forward. Victor had developed a compound similar to liquid nitrogen, based off redundant designs for a cold-based weapon he and Lucius had worked on some time ago. This freezing solution would supercool Nora's metabolism, much like her cryonic chamber did now, but this would allow her to remain conscious and mobile despite the effects to her body. The disease would still be slowed but she could continue to live her life.

There were side-effects however. She would be unable to survive in anything except sub-zero temperatures. But Victor had developed a way around even this. He had fashioned a "cryo-suit" that would regulate Nora's body temperature and allow her to survive in ordinary environments. It would mean he would still be unable to touch her, but he could at least hear her voice again and for that alone, Victor would give the stars themselves.

It wasn't a cure, but it was a step closer to getting Nora's life back. Victor even speculated that Nora, a fellow geneticist, could be of use in finding a cure for her own ailment.

The solution was nearly ready. Victor tore himself from his wife's frozen gaze to check the temperature of his compound, which waited in a nearby tank below the walkway he and Nora stood on. It had to be precise; the slightest variance in temperature and it could kill her.

Victor took another deep breath. For the first time since before Nora's diagnosis, his heart began fluttering with excitement. Soon he would be able to talk to her again, about everything and nothing, just like they used to do long into the night.

The doors to the lab crashed open, shattering Victor's dreaming. It was Bill Earle, flanked by two security guards – Victor recognised them as Marty Cale, newly added to the staff, and Bob O'Dowd, an older man. Both of them were so-called friends of his.

"Dammit, Fries!" Earle bellowed, pronouncing Victor's surname with a harsh _-eez_ sound instead of the proper, soft _-ees_. "How long did you think you could hide this from us!?"

"Please, Mr. Earle, let me explain," Victor pleaded, even though he knew Earle would not care.

Earle merely glanced around the spacious and well-equipped laboratory. "How in the hell did you manage all of this? Hm? It was Fox, wasn't it?"

"Mr. Earle, please, my wife is very sick, and…"

"I know all about your wife, Fries. What, that insurance money wasn't enough for you? You have to _steal_ from me as well? I'll see to it you lose your degree for this, Fries. You won't be able to get a job polishing test tubes when my lawyers are through with you." Earle motioned to the guards. "Get him out of here. Shut this down."

Cale and O'Dowd each took one of Victor's arms and he struggled against them. "No! Please, Mr. Earle, my wife…"

"Your wife," said Earle, right into Victor's face, "should have died a long time ago, _Mister_ Fries."

That was enough for Victor. The months of work about to be destroyed for nothing, his beloved being condemned to death, his career eliminated, and his easy dispatch by two workmates – no, friends – but the worst of it was Earle's total lack of remorse. It was safe to say that Victor lost it.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed at Earle. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS, EARLE!"

Even Cale and O'Dowd, two well-built men, struggled to contain the thin-framed, forty-two-year-old scientist in his fit of rage. "Victor, for Christ's sakes," pleaded O'Dowd. "It's over."

"No!" Victor yelled. "It's not over!" Straining against the guards holding him, he lunged for the controls that would enable Nora's cryo-chamber to slide into the freezing solution underneath the floor. But he was too frantic, he must have hit in the wrong sequence. It all happened too fast.

The console flared and sparked and Victor inwardly cursed the faulty mechanism. One of the sparks must have ignited some chemical he had sitting out in a beaker on his nearby workbench, because there was an explosion that threw him and the guards back. As Cale and O'Dowd were thrown into Earle and off of the platform, Victor was thrown onto the opening doors that covered the top of the freezing tank.

He fell right through the gap in the doors and into the liquid solution. To say the cold hit him was an understatement. It devastated him. It was as though it had eliminated his ability to feel anything in one instant, like he had completely lost his sense of touch, yet still he felt blinding pain. It was nothing, however, compared to the pain he felt next.

The explosion had been just powerful enough to shatter open his wife's cryonic chamber. As cold as the lab was, it was still far too warm for Nora to be suddenly exposed to. The fire caused by the explosion did not help matters. He knew at once, even in his torment, that she was surely dead. He did not need to check her heartbeat to know, for his own heart felt as though it had itself stopped beating.

Earle and the guards had got to their feet. "Let's get out of here!" shouted Earle over the various alarms blaring as a result of the spreading fire.

"But, sir!" Cale shouted back, gesturing towards Fries and his wife.

"They're both already dead, dammit!" Earle shouted back. "C'mon!" He ran from the burning lab with Cale and O'Dowd grudgingly in tow.

Victor could not blame them. With Nora gone, he did not want to be rescued. He closed his eyes and let his dead weight drag him to the bottom of the tank. He was not a religious man, but his final thought was that he might be reunited with Nora at last and this gave him joy at the end. He would have wept, would his tears not simply have frozen.

_

* * *

_

Present

A dark streak made its way through the equally dark streets of Gotham City on a typically cool night, weaving its way effortlessly between cars and through alleyways.

It was Gotham's own "Dark Knight", the Batman, riding his most recent mode of transport; the Bat-pod. Similar in appearance to a common motorbike, but lacking any unnecessary add-ons, the Bat-pod was pure function and it showed in its performance.

Tonight, Batman was on his way towards the home of a serial killer.

For weeks now, a sinister series of murders had been taking place, involving seemingly unconnected victims. The killings were particularly gruesome; the bodies were all found at home and had been crudely stitched together after having been taken apart. Every limb had been savagely hacked off and then re-attached, the bodies long dead by then.

Ever since a horror-struck police officer had stumbled out of the first murder scene and muttered to a waiting reporter "…he put them back together again", the press had dubbed the murderer "the Humpty Dumpty Killer". It was disgustingly unsophisticated, but it seemed the public had to have a simple name for all the themed psychopaths out there today.

The victims had not known one another, each of them living in different areas of the city. The first was a young mathematics student at Gotham University who worked part time at a fast food restaurant. The second victim was a middle-aged woman who worked at the library. The third was a male bus driver in his fifties. The latest victim had been a young woman who was a small-time actress. Nothing connected them; apart from that they all lived alone, which did nothing but aid the killer.

It was at the final victim's house – and she would be the final victim, if Batman had his way – that the Dark Detective had found a significant clue. It was getting more and more difficult for him to search crime scenes since taking the blame for Harvey Dent's crimes last year. The Batman was now an enemy on both sides of the law. But he had managed to sweep the latest scene before the police noticed him, and he had discovered something they had missed.

In between the pages of a copy of _The Merchant of Venice_ that the woman had on her bookshelf, Batman found a library card. If it belonged to the suddenly-careless killer, then he had just handed over his identity on a silver platter.

It belonged to one Edgar Humphries. Bruce had Alfred check the name and it hadn't come up on any police databases, but his address was listed. Alfred had also checked the library records, and not only was the library he frequented the former workplace of his second victim, but he had only one currently overdue book: _Grey's Anatomy_. Presumably to aid in his horrific tasks.

The Bat-pod growled to a halt outside an old shop which Humphries lived above. The sign read "Humphries & Sons – Handymen for Hire". It looked old and abandoned but, not wanting to be careless, Batman fired his grapple gun onto the roof and pulled himself up, choosing to enter from above.

He had called Commissioner Gordon from the road, knowing his only friend in the police department would treat his evidence seriously and without question. The men Gordon would send would only know that there had been a sighting of the Batman phoned in from this address. It was up to Batman himself to present enough evidence for Humphries arrest.

It most likely would not be easy. Unless Humphries had accomplices, he was probably strong enough to overpower his victims. Batman would have to incapacitate him quickly, and then search the house for clues before the boys in blue arrived.

Dropping silently through an unlocked skylight, Batman prowled the darkened upper floor. Finding it empty, he made his way noiselessly downstairs. In what appeared to be the living room, he saw an elderly woman, seemingly asleep in a rocking chair by the window, lit by a very dim lamp bulb.

At once, Batman sensed something wasn't right. He crept slowly across the dusty carpet towards the rocking chair as it creaked at a steady and deliberate rate. Placing his hand on her bony shoulder, he turned her around.

He found himself staring into the eyes of a dead woman.

Like Humphries' other victims, she had been crudely stitched together using twine, bootlace, and various other everyday household materials. Her arms and legs were bent into awkward angles and her head lolled unnaturally. Her skin was a mottled yellow and her eyes glazed over coldly. Batman had not seen any of the others up close and, although he had steeled himself against this possibility, he was overwhelmed with disgust. This Edgar Humphries was clearly a monster.

"She was broken…"

Batman turned at this mysterious voice and braced himself, only to find a sight he did not expect.

An incredibly obese man sat in the dark corner of the room on a two-seater couch that was taken up entirely by his bulk and looked ready to collapse.

"Edgar Humphries?" Batman asked, his deep voice was usually emotionless, but traces of shock managed to creep through.

Humphries nodded his dome-like head and Batman could see through the darkness that tears ran down his cheeks.

Batman struggled to maintain his composure. "You…killed those people…" He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"They were all broken," Humphries replied, his voice tremulous and high-pitched, like a child's. "They were all bad… Inside. I fixed them… I'm good at fixing things…" His hands were fidgeting nervously.

It was clear that Edgar Humphries suffered from some sort of mental instability or disability and was not fully aware of the consequences of his actions. Batman knew from experience the difference between those who used their mental condition as an excuse to kill and those who killed _because_ of their mental condition. Humphries was clearly the latter and needed treatment.

"Why did you fix them, Edgar?" Batman asked. "Why were they bad?"

If Humphries was intimidated by the Batman, he did not show it. "They… They… They were just bad. There was the boy who worked at the burger place… He was rude. He made fun of me and spat in my food, called me names… He was first. I followed him, wee, wee, wee, all the way home. I can fix things you see… Anything that's broken or bent or crooked or…bad. And he was very bad… So I had to fix him. He didn't like it… Then he…he didn't say anything…"

Batman was almost afraid to ask. "And the others, Edgar. What about the others?"

"There was the old lady who lived in the library. She was always so very cross. I needed a book, you see. I didn't fix the boy properly, so I needed a book. My granny always said that books made you smart and that's why I was stupid, 'cause I only read my story books. I got a book about fixing people, with pictures and everything, but I don't think it helped, 'cause the library lady didn't get fixed.

"Then there was the bus driver, bus driver man. He never stopped for me. And then the pretty girl who came to get her radio fixed. She wasn't very nice… Pretty outside, ugly inside… I tried to read one of her books, but it was just like her. Pretty cover but no pictures inside."

Batman realised that was when Edgar must have left his library card at the crime scene. He took the card out a pocket in his belt and knelt down before Edgar to hand him the card. The rotund man smiled at it.

"Always mark your place in a book," he burbled. "So you can come back to it later."

"Edgar," Batman said, his voice pleasanter, "is that your grandmother?" He pointed to the woman in the corner.

Edgar began to tear up again and couldn't look at her. "She was always shouting. Calling me stupid… Always wanting to know where I went at night. Then she saw. She saw the book and my messy hands and all my string and she said I was the man in the paper. The Humpty Dumpty man. I tried to make her see, but she wouldn't stop crying… She wouldn't stop crying… I had to… I had to… I had to fix her…"

A car could be heard pulling up outside. "Edgar. I want you to tell the policemen what you did. Show them your grandmother and tell them you didn't mean for anyone to get hurt and they'll take care of you."

Edgar nodded again. "I… I just want to fix everything…"

Knowing that the approaching officers would be at the door shortly, Batman left Edgar Humphries' house as silently and as undetected as he had entered it, confident the simple man-child would do the right thing.

Watching from a nearby rooftop, Batman saw Edgar being tearfully led into the back of the squad car as the arresting officers shook their heads in disbelief.

"_Pardon me, sir,"_ Alfred's Cockney accent came in clearly through his cowl's earpiece.

"Go ahead, Alfred."

"_Just heard over the scanner, sir. Commissioner Gordon has left Police Headquarters for a crime scene located across town."_

With Batman's newfound status as an outlaw, the Bat-signal was no longer a practical means to contact him. But when Gordon himself inspected a crime scene, it might has well have been a beacon.

"Send the address to the Bat-pod's GPS. I'm on my way."

* * *

Jim Gordon entered the small, one-bedroom apartment and the cold instantly hit him. It was already a chilly night, but the cold in here was more like that of a meat locker. An enveloping, penetrating coldness that hung in the air. His breath was even misting before him.

The walls and furniture were coated with a thin layer of frost and sat right in the centre of the main room, in an armchair before the broken television set, was a dead body.

"I don't think any weather man saw this cold snap comin'," said a voice with a thick New York accent.

Gordon turned to see the new head of GCPD's Major Crimes Unit – Lieutenant Harvey Bullock.

"Evenin', Commish," said Bullock, tipping the brim of his old-fashioned fedora. The man just stood out in every way – portly, unshaven and he dressed like a 1940s movie gumshoe with his crumpled trenchcoat and battered hat. "What brings you all the way out here in the middle of the night?"

"Well you should know by now that I like the strange cases, Lieutenant," Gordon replied. "What've you got?" He nodded towards the dead man.

Bullock reached into his deep pockets and produced a tattered notebook which he read from. "Martin Cale. Twenty-eight years old. Single. Lived alone. Was a security guard over at Wayne Enterprises. Neighbour came home from work 'bout midnight, saw his door was busted, then saw…_this_." He indicated the room with a casual wave of his hand.

Gordon took a closer look at the corpse. The skin was a mottled grey-white and, like the rest of the room, covered in thin frost. His eyes were wide open in fear and he was missing his right index finger. "Cause of death?" he inquired.

"That's the strange part: He was frozen to death." Bullock pointed to the victim's right hand. "That's how we lost the finger. Don't touch him; he's as brittle as ice."

"Jesus," Gordon cursed under his breath. "How could anyone do this?"

"Got me, Commish," said Bullock. "Forensics reckons it's liquid nitrogen, but they won't know for sure 'til they get him downtown." He shook his head. "Boy, they warned me about Gotham…"

"You don't know the half of it yet, Lieutenant," said Gordon. "Look, uh, Bullock, do you mind stepping outside with the other officers? I wanna take a look around myself, if that's okay."

Bullock nodded to himself and took a look out in the corridor to make sure the police guard was far enough away, and then turned back to Gordon. "Look, Commish, I ain't stupid. I know you've been working with this 'Bat-Man' everyone's been telling me about, even though they all say he's a cop-killer. And I ain't gonna judge ya, either. You got your reasons, that's fine by me, but don't go thinking I'm slow every time you inspect a crime scene by yourself."

"He's good," a voice growled from the shadows. Gordon and Bullock turned to see Batman emerge.

"I'll be damned," said Bullock, pushing his hat back.

"Lieutenant Harvey Bullock, Batman," said Gordon. "Batman, Lieutenant Bullock. He just transferred-"

"From the NYPD last month," finished Batman. "I know. New York to Gotham. Quite a change."

"Eh," Bullock shrugged. "Things were a little too slow for me."

"Lieutenant," said Gordon. "If you would…" He motioned towards the door.

"Alright," said Bullock. "Hope you know what yer doin'…" he said quietly as he left and shut the door behind him.

"You trust him?" Batman asked.

Gordon sighed. "He seems a good cop. If a little…rough."

"In New York, he was charged with excessive force several times and was known for violence against suspects during questionings, although nothing was proven." Even as he spoke, Batman was looking over both the dead man and the room.

"If you already read his file," said Gordon, "why did you ask me?"

"You and I both know that there's always more to someone than what's 'on the record'."

Gordon nodded. "Well, he trusts me. He hasn't told anyone I'm working with you."

"Any leads on this murder?" asked Batman, changing the subject.

"Firstly," said Gordon, "I'm assuming that address you had me send a car to was for this 'Humpty Dumpty Killer'?"

"Yes. Edgar Humphries," said Batman.

"Glad that sick bastard is finally gonna be put away…"

"Edgar Humphries is mentally disturbed. He thought he was 'fixing' his victims. He has the mindset of a child, but is clearly highly intelligent. A savant, perhaps. There were various pieces of technology around his house all at different stages of repair."

"Guess he's better with machines than people," said Gordon.

"He should be sent to Arkham," said Batman. "One of the few there who needs serious treatment, rather than being simply locked away."

Both men immediately thought of the Joker and how he may very well be beyond treatment.

Gordon shook his head. "More and more of these bizarre crimes. Almost theatrical. Like this guy." Their attention went back to the current crime scene. "What could do this to a man? _Who_ could do this to a man?"

"Someone looking for revenge."

"What makes you say that?"

Batman moved over to the window and drew open the curtains. In the frosted glass of the pane, someone had written four words:

REVENGE IS A DISH…

"Great. Someone with a sense of humour," said Gordon. "I take it we'll be covertly working together on this one?" He turned away from the window, but the Batman was already gone. "As usual then."

* * *

Jervis Tetch anxiously ran his hand over his unruly blonde hair, trying to get it to sit straight for the umpteenth time that day. He tugged on the lapels of his lab coat, also trying to straighten it out, but it was already too far gone to be brought back into the realm of smart-looking. It was smudged, torn and the Wayne Enterprises logo that had adorned the breast pocket had fallen off a long time ago.

Despite the condition of his coat, Jervis had only been at Wayne Enterprises for a month now. He had been headhunted for his revolutionary work in neurotechnology and the project he'd been working on for WayneTech was truly a breakthrough. This was why Bruce Wayne himself was coming down to Jervis's department today to inspect his work.

But this was not why Jervis was on-edge. He could handle having to talk to his employer, one of the world's richest men, and justify funding his very expensive research even though he'd yet to yield results. He could deal with that. It was talking to Alice that panicked him.

She was the receptionist for the floor that Jervis worked on – Advanced R&D. He saw her every day and never managed to discuss anything more than pointless small-talk with her. Although he managed to enjoy even something as immaterial as that; simply listening to her talk about every minute aspect of her day was exhilarating for him. She was so beautiful and Jervis knew that if he could just say more than "Lovely weather we're having" she'd like him too.

He pulled himself out of his lab and made his way over to Alice's desk in front of the elevators.

"Morning, Alice," he managed.

"Oh hey there, Jervis," she said in her wonderfully pleasant voice. She sent him a glimpse of her perfect smile and tucked some of her glorious golden hair behind her ear. "What can I do for you?"

Jervis always found it difficult to look her in the eye as he found that he lost himself too easily in their bright blueness. "Ah, um, well, you know that Mr. Wayne is coming down to see me today, right?"

Alice gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. "How could I forget? I've had your appointment circled in red for a week now!"

He managed to look up at her from the corner of her desk that he was pretending to inspect. "Y-You have?"

"Of course! Bruce Wayne practically never comes to any department himself. I'm finally gonna get to see him in person!"

Jervis sometimes had to remind himself of how young Alice was. At twenty-three, she was eight years his junior and still susceptible to somewhat girlish infatuations. "Oh," he stuttered. "You, uh, you like Bruce Wayne?"

"He's so hot! I can't wait 'til he gets here."

"B-But what about all that stuff they say about him? All those…women he dates."

"Oh c'mon, Jervis. Don't be so stuffy. Besides, you can't believe everything you read in the tabloids."

Jervis nervously moved around some random objects on Alice's desk. "I-I dunno… Everyone around here says he's kinda... Well, y'know, an idiot."

"Who's an idiot?" Bruce Wayne himself stepped out of the elevator accompanied by Lucius Fox, CEO of, and the real brains behind, Wayne Enterprises.

"Oh, uh, Mr. Wayne, I was uh," Jervis verbally stumbled.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," said Alice enthusiastically, standing up to greet him.

"Hey there," Wayne's eyes darted to her desk's nameplate, "Alice. How are you today?"

"I'm just fine, Mr. Wayne. How are you?"

"Pretty good," said Wayne, grinning boyishly.

"Mr. Wayne," said Fox. "This is Jervis Tetch, who I was telling you about."

Bruce's attention quickly switched to Jervis. "Oh yeah. Mr. Tetch, Lucius tells me you have something very interesting to show me."

"Oh yes, sir, ah, em, right this way, sir." Jervis hastily led the way back to his lab.

Once in the lab, Jervis frantically typed in his code for the safe at the back of the room, but couldn't seem to get it right. "Um, sorry about this, always takes me a while. Should've had it out ready… Ah! There we go." The safe opened and Jervis removed an object that looked like a metal headband with several other bands crisscrossing over the top in a semi-spherical shape, as if to fit over the head. It was quite bulky for such a small device and looked very complex for such a simple design. "I call it the mind-hat," said Jervis proudly.

"Mind-hat?" said Bruce with a dubious tone.

"Uh, well, it's just a silly name, I, uh…" Jervis babbled.

"Why don't you tell Mr. Wayne what it does," said Fox.

"Right," said Jervis. "Well, this is just the prototype, you understand, but as Mr. Fox has, I'm sure, explained to you, I've been developing a means to…amplify, or unlock, the human brain's potential."

Wayne suddenly became very interested, folding his arms and asking, "You mean like how they say we only use ten percent of our brains…"

"A-Actually, Mr. Wayne, that's, um, a common misconception. You see, we actually use one-hundred percent of the brain, but not all at once. We are only using about three percent of our brains at any given time, but _which_ three percent is always changing."

"And you're saying you've found a way to allow human beings to use more of their brains at once?"

"Well, Mr. Wayne, my intent is to one day be able to use my _entire_ mind's potential."

"_Your_ mind?"

Jervis quickly corrected himself. "I, uh, I mean _our_ minds. As a people."

Wayne continued with his questioning. "So, what your device can do is give people…what, psychic powers? Mind reading, telekinesis, that sort of thing?"

"Well, um, this is just the prototype, you understand, it's yet to be tested, of course, and while it may give the user the abilities you mentioned, I think it's more likely that the wearer will be able to, uh, project or extend his will onto another, less developed, mind."

"You're talking about mind-control, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne.

"Well, ah, only of, um, lesser creatures. I don't think it'd work on humans. And it's really more like hypnotism than mind-control." He fumbled with the device. "You see, as I told Mr. Fox last week, it uses focused-"

Bruce cut him off. "I'm afraid the science part is lost on me, Mr. Tetch. Lucius?"

Fox took a heavy breath. "The theory is sound and shows promise. But I've inspected the prototype myself and in my personal opinion…it's too dangerous. I believe the effect of the device would cause lasting cerebral damage to whoever used it."

Jervis's face dropped. "B-But, there's only a slim chance of neural damage. It could easily be hammered out in further research and-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne. "But it's not just Mr. Fox's opinion I'm taking into account. I personally can't see any positive use for this device."

"D-Don't you see? The vastness of the human mind has yet to be explored," proclaimed Tetch. "Think of what we could accomplish."

"You're talking about mind-control," said Bruce again. "That's something I cannot condone. Give Mr. Fox the device, he'll put it in storage and you'll be assigned a new project."

Fox put his hand on one of Tetch's slumped shoulders. "I'm sorry, son," he offered. Jervis wearily handed him his prized invention.

"Don't worry, Mr. Tetch," said Wayne as the two men left him. "I'm sure one day this 'mind-hat' will be of use to someone. Just not in the way you think."

Jervis offered a weak smile to show he had no hard feelings, despite it being a lie. He felt crushed. It didn't help when he heard the playboy flirting with Alice down the hall.

* * *

Bruce and Lucius walked passed the security checkpoint on the storage floor and into the large vault room. Once Tetch's prototype had been safely stowed away and Bruce made sure they were out of earshot of the security guards, he spoke seriously to Lucius.

"I need to talk to you about something important," he started.

"Business, pleasure or you-know-what?" Lucius jokingly asked as he sealed the device in its own drawer.

"I'm afraid it's that unique kind of important."

"Oh?" Lucius was now listening fully.

"One of our security guards was found dead last night. Martin Cale. I'm sure you'll be informed through official channels later in the day…"

"Marty Cale…"

"Did you know him?"

"Not personally. He worked front desk. Damn shame." Fox shook his head mournfully. "But other than his employment, what interests you about his death?"

"He was murdered. Frozen to death in his own home."

Lucius frowned. "That certainly is…unique."

Bruce continued. "There were no clues, nothing left behind – no DNA, no fingerprints – nothing except a message: 'Revenge is a dish'."

"Revenge?"

"Yeah. The message looked as though it was meant to be continued, that's why I think whoever did this will strike again. Possibly tonight. The police will pursue leads and Gordon will inform me if they turn up any suspects, but for now I need to know: What kind of weapon could flash-freeze someone like that?"

Fox searched his mind. "Y'know, there might be something like that in this very room…" He crossed to a wall monitor and input a search into its small keyboard.

"There was a geneticist who worked here a few years back," said Lucius. "Before your time. Doctor Victor Fries."

"_Fries_?"

"I know, I know. It was back when Bill Earle was running the place. He had me and Victor work together on a weapon that could freeze a target. It was designed to be non-lethal, but I suppose- Ah!" He read the inventory number off the monitor then went to the corresponding drawer and removed a set of schematics and other papers which Bruce pretended to study. "We only have the designs; the prototype was destroyed in, ironically, a fire years ago.

"It sprays a concentrated jet of a compound similar to liquid nitrogen. It actually gets colder over time, so the victim would essentially be dying slowly unless thawed. Although I suppose a more concentrated dose could cause instant death."

"Does Dr. Fries still work here?" asked Bruce. "I'd like to talk to him about it."

"No, I'm afraid he…" Lucius suddenly stopped.

"Lucius?"

"My God… It couldn't be…"

"What?" Bruce asked. "What is it?"

Lucius quickly explained how Victor Fries had perished years ago. He told Bruce about Fries' wife, his illegal use of equipment and what happened when Earle found out.

He finished his account with, "Marty Cale was one of the security guards there that night."

Bruce suddenly saw the relevance of the story. "Fries body was never found I take it?"

"When the tank was drained, it was empty. Everyone assumed that Victor's body had totally crystallised and disintegrated. Several pieces of equipment were presumed lost in the fire but…"

"But now," said Bruce, "with Cale dead – frozen – it seems likely that Fries didn't die. That he stole the missing equipment and that he's back after all these years."

"And is out for revenge," Lucius added.

* * *

In a disused cold storage warehouse in one of Gotham's generally disused areas, a lone man stood in an ice-cold room, staring at a photograph.

Several men slowly approached the figure. They were dressed in gear designed to brave Arctic winds; not what they were expecting to wear in Gotham City on a September afternoon. The head of this pack, who called himself Jackson, stepped forward.

"Yo!" he proclaimed. "Word on the street is you're looking for muscle."

"Indeed," said the bald man with bone-white skin. His flat, emotionless voice cut through the men more harshly than the temperature. Jackson also noticed his breath wasn't misting when he spoke.

"Yeah, well, ever since the damned Batman put an end to organised crime in his town, you gotta take whatever's thrown in your direction. Even if it weren't aimed at you. Right, guys?" There were murmurs of agreement. "You pay us the right amount; we'll do just about anything."

"I assure you," said the pale man, "money is no object. You will all get your rewards and I shall have mine."

Jackson snorted. "These days, everybody's after something weird or something. Like that Joker guy. I hear he burned his share of the mob's money. These days money isn't good enough for guys like him. Guys like you. What I'm trying to say, Mister, uh…?"

"Fries."

"Right. What I'm trying to say, Mr. Fries, is: What is it you are after?"

Fries gazed once again into the photograph, which Jackson could now see was of an attractive woman. Then the tall, intimidating figure turned to what looked like some sort of high-tech suit of armour with a domed glass helmet. Fries placed a hand on the suit's chest.

"Tell me," said Fries. "Have you ever been in love?"

Jackson shifted slightly. "What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"When you are dealing with me, it has to do with everything.

"You asked me what I want. I shall tell you." Fries turned to the others and for the first time since they had entered, Jackson saw his eyes flare with an emotion – hate. "Revenge! I swear upon the grave of my beloved Nora, I shall have my cold vengeance!"


	2. Madness in Love

**BATMAN: SHIVER**

Chapter II

"Madness in Love"

"White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane slowly crawled through the airwaves of Jervis Tetch's modest inner-city apartment, emerging from his iPod dock, as Jervis himself slumped onto his sofa-bed, contemplating the tragedy of the day.

Bruce Wayne had arrogantly proclaimed his project "dangerous" and had as much as called it evil before condemning it to storage forever. Jervis knew that if he could only prove his device was safe for human use, he'd be heralded as the genius he was. But then there was that accusation of evil intent. Jervis had not been completely honest when he had said that his mind-hat would be ineffective on people.

According to his own research, the device would be able to project commands given by the wearer onto persons with what he deemed "uncomplicated" minds. Persons whose thought processes were slow, compared to those with more active brains. It would be like hypnotism; the user could compel others to perform simple tasks or, with greater concentration on the user's part, he could totally dominate them.

If only Wayne wasn't so damned short-sighted, and wasn't obsessed with pretending to be the loving, caring billionaire type. It was all so hypocritical, the way he was always doing things for charity and the community when everyone knew he didn't really give a crap.

Like the party he was throwing at some fancy hotel tomorrow night. To raise money for the rebuilding of the hospital destroyed last year by the Joker. Like Wayne really even cared. He had even invited several lower-ranking employees, just to show off. Jervis himself had been invited, not that he planned to show up.

It didn't help Jervis's disposition that the oafish womaniser had clearly set his sights on poor Alice. His own bashfulness and awkwardness tore at him, as if Jervis's heart wanted to scream at him for failing to attract Alice's wondrous attentions. Truth be told, he had never been good at talking to members of the opposite sex.

It was all to do with his mother, of course. She had always discouraged young Jervis from socialising with girls. She had told him that no girl was good enough for him and that he wasn't to be deflected from his studies by "feminine wiles". His now-departed mother had imprinted within him a belief that all females were deceitful. He had been forced to study and read rather than mingle with the other children, so paranoid was his mother that he would become hopelessly infatuated with girls.

When he wasn't studying, Jervis sought refuge in the works of Lewis Carroll. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and _Through the Looking-Glass_ as well as lesser-known works such as _The Hunting of the Snark_ and _Sylvia and Bruno_. Jervis revelled in the author's nonsensical prose, a stark contrast to his strict home life.

As he'd grown older, he had become less obsessed with Wonderland, but it forever remained a part of him. The only bright light in the dark corridor of memory. His infatuation was briefly revived during his university days at MIT, where student existence had encouraged a life of nonsense and everyone else seemed to have focused their passions on a particular dead author, composer or poet, just to seem a little Bohemian. He had even gone to a Halloween party dressed as the Mad Hatter once and he still had the costume today.

The coincidence was not lost on him that Carroll's tales had been such a large part of his childhood and now he found himself attracted to a girl named Alice. It had reawakened his old fixation just as much as it had begun a new one with Alice herself. Even now, in his wardrobe, back behind that old Halloween costume from years ago was a collage of photograph clippings of the object of his desire. Taken during various work parties over the months he'd been at Wayne Enterprises, it gave him a hollow joy simply to gaze upon her two-dimensional image.

But deep down he knew he'd never have her. There'd always be men like Bruce Wayne in front of him. Conventional good looks, false charm, money. But he'd surely just break her heart.

"NO!" Jervis yelled across the empty room, finding himself driven by an unknown fury. He pulled himself to his feet and threw his tattered work case down as a symbol of his defiance. No more would he stand by and watch Alice's heart get slowly broken while he, a decent gentleman who would love her forever, stood by the sidelines.

Wayne must be removed from the competition. Jervis found his newfound enthusiasm deflating as he realised the absurdity of such a statement. How would he even manage such a thing? Talking to Wayne was no good; a simple-minded cretin like him would only be spurred on by the knowledge that he's stepping on Jervis's toes.

Perhaps that in itself was the answer. Wayne's was precisely the type of mind that would be easily altered by the mind-hat. A straightforward command like "stay away from Alice" and Jervis's problems would be solved.

Of course, Jervis could also use the hat to control Alice. He had considered this possibility as far back as the planning stage of project and had dismissed it. He would not turn Alice into a mindless automaton for his benefit; if he was to have her, it would be openly and willingly. Otherwise he'd be no different from the scum he sought to protect her from. The device would be used to clear a path to Alice, but not to cage her.

Again, however, Jervis was crushed by the harshness of reality. His mind-hat was safely locked away in Wayne Enterprises' heavily guarded storage vaults. Jervis didn't even have clearance to access that floor and Wayne would never concede to reopening the project.

He wilted back into the couch and prepared for his life to continue on its dreary course of depression after depression.

Jefferson Airplane reached the crescendo of their ballad. _"…Feed your head! Feed your head!"_

* * *

Since Wayne Manor had only recently been reopened after being burnt down nearly two years ago, Alfred was understandably cautious as he entered the secret elevator behind the bookcase. The lift's mechanisms sent him downward into the underground cave network hidden from common knowledge beneath the rebuilt mansion.

He found his ever-taxing master hunched over before his unnecessarily large computer screen, basking in its glow. Alfred was about to make a comment about the damage Bruce was undoubtedly doing to his posture and eyesight, but his young employer spoke first.

"Alfred, have you been using my multi-billion dollar super-computer to watch movies?" he asked without turning. In his hand he held up a DVD.

"Well if you'd splash out on a big-screen TV, maybe I wouldn't have to use this great bloody monstrosity," Alfred quickly defended himself, to Bruce's amusement. "Don't know what you need a screen that big for anyway," Alfred continued, "if you're only going to be reading files from it. Besides, it was a classic: _The Terror_, with Basil Karlo. Can you believe they're remaking it? Philistines!"

Bruce chuckled to himself. "Little busy to debate movies right now, Alfred."

"This Victor Fries chap, sir?"

"Mm. Just searching for the whereabouts of his next two likely victims: security guard Robert O'Dowd and our old friend Bill Earle."

Alfred put out Bruce's small dinner on a nearby side-table, knowing the vigilant defender of Gotham would not acknowledge it until the smell from the meal stirred his apatite. Alfred had learned long ago not to try and drag Master Wayne to the meal table, nor to wait for him to come to it, but rather to meet them half-way.

"Didn't Mr. Earle get a job at that other company?" inquired Alfred.

"Yeah," replied Bruce. "NeoCorp. They hired him right after he was…let go from Wayne Enterprises. Thought he might know some trade secrets."

"Pity for them, Master Wayne, that they overestimated his involvement in company projects, eh?" Alfred commented.

"Indeed. He's head of Project Management now. He was easy enough to track down as he hasn't changed address. However, O'Dowd retired two years ago. I'm not even sure if he still lives in the city. Running a search program just now." Bruce casually noticed the food sitting next to him and began picking at it without comment.

Alfred smiled, noting his technique's success. "You think this Mr. Fries will definitely strike again tonight, sir?"

"I'm counting on it. Tomorrow is the date his wife died. That must be why he chose now to carry out his revenge. That gives him two days and two targets."

"What I don't understand, Master Wayne," said Alfred, "is what he's been doing all this time. Where has he been for three years?"

"Fox said he was independently wealthy and had withdrawn a large amount of cash so he and his wife could run away before anyone found out about his illegal experiments. He also said the money was never accounted for."

"So you think he got to the money…"

"And with it, he could have been hiding out anywhere."

"Well, that takes care of the where, sir, to a degree," said Alfred. "But what about the why? Why has he waited so long to carry out his plan?"

"That's what I can't figure out either, Alfred," Bruce confessed.

The computer made an alarming noise.

"Got O'Dowd's address," Bruce said, reading off the display. "I need to get this information to Gordon. It's dark enough now." He moved to change into his Bat-suit.

Alfred slowly crossed to follow him. "Sir," he said with weight in his voice. "Be careful."

"Aren't I always?" Bruce scoffed as he applied his armour.

"This is different, sir…"

"I know, I know. The freezing weapon. I've got Fox working on something to counter it, but I can't wait—"

"It's not just that, Master Wayne. Victor Fries isn't motivated by money, or power, or chaos. He's driven by love. And there is always some madness in love, sir."

"Didn't know you were prone to quoting Nietzsche, Alfred," said Bruce.

"He was right, sir. Love can make a man do just about anything." Alfred gazed at the floor. "Perhaps you'd know that if you had allowed yourself to feel it more often…"

Bruce paused briefly in his suiting-up to think of Rachel. Had her death crippled his heart for good? He had no time to ponder on such thoughts. He pulled on his dark mask and became the Batman, his voice and demeanour instinctively changing.

"Victor Fries isn't driven by love, Alfred," he said. "He's driven by vengeance. And I know first-hand how inefficient and devastating vengeance is. I cannot allow Fries to carry his out." With that, he climbed onto the Bat-pod and disappeared into the night.

"Good luck, sir," Alfred whispered into the cave. "As always…"

* * *

Harvey Bullock rapped his knuckles against the door to Commissioner Gordon's office and was told to enter. "Commish," the bulky detective acknowledged. "Got the report on the Cale murder. The freezer guy?"

Gordon took the files off the Lieutenant, noticing that he had availed himself of the seat across from Gordon's desk without being offered.

"Forensics has no idea what was used to freeze him," said Bullock as Gordon flicked through the report for himself. "And we ain't pickin' up any leads. If you'll excuse the pun; the trail is cold."

Gordon gave Bullock a look.

"Hey, Commish, you think that's bad, you should hear them all down in MCU. Every time we talk about the killer it's: 'He's one _cold_ SOB' or 'not a very _ice_ guy' or 'we need to send him to the _cooler_' or—"

"I get the picture, Lieutenant," said Gordon. He sighed deeply as he pored over the inconclusive reports.

Bullock suppressed the urge to tell the Commissioner to 'chill out' and instead said "What about the Batman? He turned up anything yet?"

Gordon peered up over his glasses at the younger man, unable to read any emotions off his rough features. "Lieutenant," he said, lowering his voice, "my professional relationship with the vigilante known as Batman…"

"Commissioner," said Bullock in a suddenly-serious tone, "I know you've been on-edge since I told ya I knew about the two of you. And I'm not gonna try and convince you to trust me with some bullshit speech. But you've read my file, and I'm sure you've heard my reputation… Do I seem like the kinda guy to get fussy over some rule-bending?"

Gordon calmly put his hands on the desk in front of him, interlocking his fingers. "What are you saying, Bullock? That you want 'in'?"

"I'm saying that I want to do my job, sir. And if that means doing things that ain't 'in the manual', well then so be it. Now, if you and the Bat wanna keep your little circle of friends tight, I appreciate that. But he can't exactly be much of a conversation artist."

"I get by," said Batman from the shadows, having entered unannounced at some undisclosed point.

"Speak of the Devil," said Bullock.

"I know who killed Martin Cale," Batman said to Gordon. He went on to tell the two men about Fries and his plans, as well as the identity and whereabouts of his next victims.

"Whoa, hold up, Bats," said Bullock, scratching his head under his hat. "Some mad scientist with a ray gun is out to put the guys who killed his wife on ice – literally?"

Although equally overwhelmed by the incredible story, Gordon knew the Batman's info was not to be taken lightly. The Commissioner was already punching numbers into his phone. "It's too late to risk moving them to safe houses, but I can have squads sent to Earle and O'Dowd's homes. Bullock you go over to O'Dowd's and I'll see to Earle." As Bullock put on his coat, Gordon turned to Batman. "Where are you—?" He was, of course, already gone.

"This mean I'm in the Bat-club?" asked Bullock.

* * *

"I remember Victor Fries," said Bob O'Dowd. He sat in his living room, his mind weighted by memory, as several police officers kept watch at his windows on the street below.

The highest-ranking officer, Lieutenant Bullock, stood over him as if he would suddenly vanish from under his nose. "Yeah?" said the detective. "Well he sure as hell remembers you, Mr. O'Dowd. Seems to think you had something to do with his wife's death."

Without looking up, O'Dowd said "We did, in a way. I think about that night a lot. What could have happened differently… I was good friends with Victor and Nora. Took me a while to get over their deaths." He chuckled humourlessly. "Now I discover after all these years that Victor is alive, only to find out he blames me for Nora's death. Maybe he's right to…"

Bullock was only half listening to the older man. He was also going over the layout of the building in his head. O'Dowd lived in an old triple-decker apartment building, his place being on the middle floor. There were two points of entry; the main door, which led to the stairwell, and the back door in the kitchen, which led to a rusty fire escape. Besides himself, there were two uniformed cops inside and about a dozen out in front and at the rear of the building. Fries was sure to have a hard time getting in.

"Way I hear it, Mr. O'Dowd," said Bullock, zoning back in, "she had Schivell's Disease. She couldn't have had much time left. But rather than let her live out her last remaining days, your old pal Victor freezes her in some misguided attempt to save her. I can't say if you killed her, Mr. O'Dowd, but it sounds to me like Fries took her life long before you became involved."

O'Dowd looked up. "How did you find all this out anyway?"

Before Bullock could formulate an answer without the word 'Batman' in it, one of the officers at the window called to him.

"Lieutenant, trouble."

Bullock peered out the window and saw an armoured van pulling up across the street. By the time he had fumbled for his radio, several compartments had opened in the side of the van and whoever was inside unleashed a hail of automatic weapons fire on the squad cars protecting the structure.

"Get down!" Bullock shouted to everyone inside, pulling his sidearm from its holster. He pulled the radio to his lips and barked orders for the men at the rear to aid those at the front, and then put in a call for back-up. They had severely underestimated Fries.

The windows shattered from the unfriendly fire and while the two uniformed cops tried to get off a few shots, Bullock crawled to O'Dowd.

"We gotta get you safe!" he yelled over the gunfire. "They've got some serious artillery!"

"The kitchen!" O'Dowd yelled back.

Bullock nodded and signalled for him to move. The kitchen was at the rear of the apartment, furthest from the shooting. Then it hit Bullock.

He had ordered his men away from the rear of the building. It was totally unprotected.

O'Dowd was already in the kitchen and standing up now that he was out of the line of fire. Bullock darted after him and grabbed O'Dowd, not sure what he was going to do with him. "Trap!" he shouted. "It's a goddam trap!" But it was too late.

The back door was ripped from its hinges and there in the doorway was a seven-foot-tall mechanical ghost. "Good evening, Bob," said Victor Fries. "Remember me?"

His hairless head, with its ivory flesh and sharp features, was the only organic part of him that showed, and even it looked sculpted from a glacier. A dome of thick glass surrounded his skull and the rest of his body was encased in a metallic shell. On his back was a tank, of the type a diver would wear for oxygen, connected to a cylindrical weapon he clutched effortlessly in one hand, despite its apparent weight.

Bullock levelled his gun at this monstrosity. "Freeze!" he automatically shouted, before realising his choice of word.

Fries cocked his head and said "How very droll." He advanced towards the two men. Bullock opened fire, but his bullets didn't even leave a scratch on the iceman's armour. Even the glass of his helmet was unscratched by the few lucky shots Bullock got at it.

Fries crossed the short distance of the room in no time and casually threw Bullock over his shoulder and into the wall, knocking him out cold.

"As you can see," he said to O'Dowd, who was backed against the wall in fear, "I've made a few modifications to the cryo-suit. I could crush your face into the brickwork if I wanted to, Bob. But I've chosen to exact my vengeance a little more…poetically." He raised the conical nozzle of his weapon towards O'Dowd but before he could do more, a dark shadow crashed into him, knocking him into the front of the refrigerator harshly.

It was the Batman.

Fries threw the Dark Knight off easily and removed himself from the dent he'd made in the fridge. "Goodness," he said. "And here I thought you just a myth." Even now, although surprised, his voice was steady and unwavering, strikingly different from the unruly background sounds of the ongoing gunfight.

"You're not killing any more people, Fries," Batman said to him, his voice rumbling with authority. He pulled himself into a fighting stance, but the limited space as well as Fries' suit put him at a disadvantage. Fries also stood between him and O'Dowd, negating any chance at the older man's escape.

"You cannot stop me anymore than you can stop Winter melting into Spring," said Fries.

"Nice imagery," mocked Batman, stalling for time as he analysed Fries' armour. "But what you're doing isn't natural."

"It's justice," said Fries. "Nora was my life. They took her from me and left me frozen, so now I shall take their lives and do the same to them."

"It's not justice. It's vengeance," said Batman. Wise words from his past, now more relevant than ever, broke to the surface of his memory. "Justice is about harmony. Vengeance is about making yourself feel good. They're not the same."

"You think you can dissuade me with semantics?" said Fries. "Call it what you will; it is mine to carry out."

If there was a chink in Fries' armour, Batman could not see it. He would have to go for the weapon; disabling it first and then dealing with Fries. "Then I will stop you!" He flew for the cold giant, feigning right but charging for the left, for the freeze gun.

But Fries was quick – too quick for such a bulky frame – and used the hefty weapon to bluntly strike the Batman in the head. His senses ringing, Batman managed to toss a handful of flashbangs at Fries. The miniature stun grenades put them on equal footing; disorientating Fries for a few seconds.

"Run!" Batman shouted to O'Dowd, who still cowered behind Fries. But it was too late. Fries had regained his composure and grabbed O'Dowd by his neck, hurling him back into the corner.

His stony features broken into a scowl, Fries punched Batman square in the chest, sending him flying back against the same wall as Bullock. Before Batman could get back up, Fries had holstered his large gun on his back and, using both hands, picked up the fridge. "You…will…stay…DOWN!" Fries commanded, launching the appliance across the room and onto the Batman.

Batman could not help but cry out in pain as the sheer weight of the refrigerator crushed down on him. Satisfied he wasn't going to be bothered further; Fries turned his attention back towards O'Dowd.

Grasping the trembling man by his throat, Fries hoisted him up against the wall. "Please," O'Dowd begged. "Victor… Not a day has gone by…where I didn't think about that night… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry!?" Fries scoffed. "You are not sorry. Not yet. You never knew me until after I had met Nora. Before her, my life had no passion. No reason! No purpose! My heart was frozen even then, O'Dowd. But then she came into my life. I felt _alive_ for the first time! Can you understand that?! Before Nora, each day was worthless! I felt _nothing_! Not even for myself. Then she thawed me. Suddenly the world, once so hollow to me, was vibrant in every aspect!" Emotion was beginning to show in Fries' voice. "But then she was taken from me and I became cold once more."

Fries released his grip on O'Dowd, who fell to his knees, gasping for air. "Victor," he pleaded, "for God's sake… Don't do this, please." Tears were forming in his eyes as he realised his impending doom.

Fries unhooked his gun and aimed it at O'Dowd. "Yes," he hissed menacingly. "Weep the tears I could not shed…"

"Fries!" Batman yelled, still pinned down. "O'Dowd and Earle can be punished for what they did! With your testimony, they can be brought to justice – true justice! They don't have to die!" Fries was hesitating. Batman was getting through to him. "What would Nora want?"

An eternity of seconds passed before Fries said "She would want a deathless solution." He charged his weapon. "It is fortunate, then, that she is not here to see this." As he depressed the trigger, a concentrated jet of white liquid sprayed over O'Dowd's kneeling form.

"NO!" Batman roared, for all the good it did.

O'Dowd screamed as his very blood froze and every limb became as ice until there was no longer breath to scream with.

Fries silently deactivated his weapon and walked back across the room. The air itself had become colder when Fries' gun discharged and he paused to write something in the frost of the window pane. Before he left, he stood over Batman, who still struggled against his burden.

"My task is two thirds complete," Fries said, his voice once again drained of feeling. "I have no quarrel with you. Stay out of my way and only one more person need die."

As Fries departed, Batman pushed even harder against the heavy fridge but to no greater avail. With the sound of gunfire dying down, Batman feared he'd be unable to follow Fries.

"Bullock!" he shouted, rousing the detective back into consciousness.

"Jesus, Bats," said Bullock. He looked around confusedly. "What the hell happ—?"

"No time! Fries is getting away! Get this thing off me!"

After being finally freed with Bullock's marginal help, Batman made his way to the roof. The building was tall, but he still could not see any signs of Fries' getaway van. It was faster than it looked and it was unlikely he'd find it in time even with the Bat-pod. Fries was long gone.

Back in the kitchen, Bullock stood over O'Dowd's frozen corpse. "The guys in the next room couldn't hear what was going on in here over the damn shooting. Not that they'd've been much help against…that. You better get outta here before somebody sees ya," he said to Batman without looking away from O'Dowd. "Some of the men are injured. Nothing serious. Paramedics on the way. Along with that damned backup." He sighed wearily. "I'd better, ah, report in to the Commissioner."

Batman stood silently in the kitchen for a moment. "Victor Fries," he said purposefully, "will not kill again." As he turned to leave, he noticed the words Fries had scrawled into the window.

…BEST SERVED COLD

Batman shattered the glass with his fist.

* * *

Gordon listened to Bullock's report over the radio and silently cursed when he heard that O'Dowd was now dead. He walked back into Bill Earle's spacious living room to inform the man he was charged with protecting.

Earle stood against the fireplace of his luxurious home, glass of whiskey in hand. Several uniformed officers stood defensively by the windows and throughout the house as well as outside it. With O'Dowd dead it was unlikely Fries would attack Earle until tomorrow, but they would remain just in case.

Gordon cleared his throat for Earle's attention. "I'm afraid Fries…got to Mr. O'Dowd."

Earle barely glanced away from the news programme on the television. "That's unfortunate, of course, but as I keep telling you, Commissioner; Victor Fries died three years ago. I don't know who this madman is, but it's not him."

"My lieutenant says different, Mr. Earle," said Gordon.

"Even if Fries blamed me for his wife's death for some reason," said Earle, "why did he wait so long?"

"I'm afraid we don't know that for sure yet," said Gordon.

"But you seem to know just about everything else regarding Victor Fries. Tell me, Mr. Gordon, just how did you come to the conclusion that he'd be after me?" Earle asked, finally meeting the Commissioner's gaze.

"Like you said; we have reason to believe he blames you for his wife's death…"

"Uh-huh. And who told you that?"

Gordon took a breath to speak, but he was saved the trouble by a young patrolman at the window.

"Sir, on the TV." He pointed at the news report. It was GCN with Mike Engel, the city's leading news station and top anchorman. The caption along the bottom of the screen read: 'MR. FREEZE'. It had Gordon and Earle's full attention.

"Once again," Engel was saying, "GCN has received video footage from a criminal apparently calling himself 'Mr. Freeze' and has been made aware that it is in our…best interest to air it." Engel looked distressed as he spoke and Gordon suspected some sort of threat had been made to key members of the network's staff.

The image on the screen changed to that of Fries sitting at a desk in some sort of large freezer, like that of a butcher shop. There were no identifying markings that gave away his location.

"_Greetings, people of Gotham,"_ said Fries, his voice calm and collected. _"Tonight, you will learn some of the cold, hard facts about one of your esteemed citizens. My name is Victor Fries, and three years ago I worked for Wayne Enterprises…"_

As Fries told the – somewhat one-sided – story of his wife's illness and death, Gordon was busy barking orders into his radio to get the bastard off the air, even though Gordon knew the message would most likely be finished by the time any of his men could get over to the television station.

"_But I pulled myself out of that frozen Hell,"_ Fries was now saying, _"and into a burning one. The proximity of the flames was causing me so much distress that I surmised that the freezing solution had supercooled my metabolism, as I had intended it to do for Nora. Taking the cryo-suit I had developed along with as much of my research that hadn't been burned, I fled. Fled to plan for my revenge – the only thing that still burned in my now-frozen heart._

"_But I am a patient man. I sought to cure myself first. I had no desire to live my life in,"_ he gestured to his surroundings, _"deep-cold storage forever. For three long years I slaved to return myself to normal, so as I may better enact my plot, but found my condition to be incurable… Much like Nora's had been…_

"_Finally, I found my thirst for vengeance too strong to continue my work, and so, armed with a prototype weapon I myself designed, I sought out those who took my life from me, so that I may do the same to them."_

"_I hope that Mr. Earle is watching. Don't think that you are off the hook simply because I have exposed your crimes, Bill. Cale and O'Dowd died quickly – they were mere pawns – but you, Earle… You will suffer…"_

The picture returned to Mike Engel, making some apologies and babbling about the legal ramifications. Gordon thought he saw fear in Earle's features, but it was replaced quickly by inflated anger.

"I'm gonna sue that…goddam news station," Earle blurted out. "Showing that maniac's slander! Giving in to the…fearmongers who would have us all running around like mad!"

Gordon let out a sigh at Earle's refusal to recognize the genuine threat against his life, to say nothing of his insistence that he was innocent of Fries' charges.

* * *

Jervis Tetch had been apathetically making his way through a microwavable meal in his lonely apartment, with the television on purely to break the crushing silence, when he had heard Fries' message.

He had been glued to the set all the way through and found the man's story captivating. Fries' bloodlust for vengeance barely registered with Tetch, so enamoured he was with the darkly romantic aspect of the tale; his penchant for whimsy overriding the moral issue.

It had also reminded him of stories told by some of his older co-workers at Wayne Enterprises. Victor Fries was most definitely the man of the legends Tetch had heard and immediately dismissed at the time. Tales of a scientist who had perished in his own cryogenic experiments years ago. Some of the more fancy-hearted employees were even known to tell ghost stories. None of them mentioned a terminally ill wife, or Earle's involvement in both her death and Fries' accident.

Now that Jervis's memory had been stimulated, he also recalled hearing about how Wayne Enterprises had required a special deep-cold containment unit installed in its storage vaults. The same storage vaults that held Jervis's mind-hat…

* * *

"Today is the anniversary of Nora's death," Lucius Fox reminded Bruce Wayne as they emerged from the secret elevator and into what was still known as Applied Sciences. To most of Wayne Enterprise's staff it was a dead-end department, but these two men knew differently.

"That means," said Bruce, "that Fries will most likely strike at Earle tonight. At the charity fundraiser. He'll want it to be public if last night's message is any indication."

"Earle's still going?" Fox asked in disbelief.

Bruce shook his head. "Man's an idiot. Refuses to be taken to a safe-house, even after last night. Keeps giving speeches about how we 'can't give in to lunatics and terrorists'. Thinks he's making a stand. Probably just doesn't want to appear guilty. Gordon's going to have a unit there for protection, but they'll be no match for Fries."

Lucius nodded. "As if the freezing weapon weren't enough, Fries' cryo-suit is damn near indestructible. Plus, from what you told me and based on my own calculations, it sounds like he's modified it to triple his strength."

"Fries told me he was out to kill Earle and only Earle, but he might turn his weapon on others if he deems it necessary. Have you worked out any counter-measures yet?"

Fox held up a finger decisively. "I did recall something that would be just the ticket." He led Bruce over to a container. "I'll say one thing about Bill Earle: He thought ahead." Lucius opened the container to reveal some sort of body-suit.

"Earle would never commission a weapons-based project," continued Lucius, "without having someone else work on a way to counter it."

"What is it?" asked Wayne, holding up the thin fabric.

"It's called a thermal net," explained Fox. "There are tiny micro-heaters woven into the cloth that only activate in extremely cold temperatures, keeping the wearer warm. If you wear this under your…regular attire, then if Fries sprays his super-coolant on you, you'll still be fine. Although you'll be damn cold."

Bruce nodded his appreciation.

"I took the liberty," said Lucius, "of attaching just such a net to the inside of one of your capes – without compromising its regular function or efficiency."

"Thanks," said Bruce. "This should do it."

"One more thing, Mr. Wayne," said Lucius. "The power cells on these things run out after just a few minutes. So, while you will be protected if Fries shoots you…"

"Still not a good idea to paint a target on my chest just yet. Check."

"These were the only two models in storage, but I think I may be able to construct another one. I can have it sent to you as soon as possible."

"Thanks." Bruce checked his watch. "Better get going. It's almost time…"

* * *

"About bloody time you showed up," said Alfred as Bruce entered the overly flashy hotel ballroom. "You _are_ meant to be the host you know. What with it being your overpriced hotel and all that."

Bruce casually lifted a glass of champagne (not that he intended to drink it) from his butler's tray. "Sorry, Alfred," he said quietly. "Had to…change."

"Yes, well," Alfred looked around cautiously. "Your 'other outfit' is in the usual place, sir."

Bruce nodded his appreciation. Ideally, he would have liked to have been watching from the shadows as Batman already, but he had to make an appearance as Bruce Wayne. After all, he had organized the event; feeling he was partly to blame for the Joker's reign of destruction. The hospital he had destroyed was still incomplete due to poor funding caused by red tape nonsense.

He looked around and saw the usual faces he saw at these kinds of things. Bruce might have been the one with a secret identity, but these people had masks of their own. Pretending they gave a damn about things like charity and poverty when they really cared for nothing but making themselves look and feel good. Sometimes Bruce wondered if he would have become just like them had his parents not been taken from him at so young an age and his life not become more focused.

He saw Ferris Boyle, NeoCorp's CEO and Earle's present employer, staggering around, already drunk. Boyle was one of the worst of them, but at least he made no attempts to hide his selfishness and arrogance. Bruce saw him chatting with Earle and gave them a wide berth. He and Earle had not spoken since his firing and Bruce had no desire to change that situation, although he would be keeping an eye on him tonight for obvious reasons.

Bruce noticed the slight bulge of a handheld radio under Earle's tuxedo coat and noted that Gordon was most likely on the other end and thus nearby for when things got serious.

Lucius came over to him and tapped his arm. "I finished a third thermal net," Fox said, speaking softly. "Delivered it to the mansion before I came over."

"Thanks," said Bruce. "There are three elevators to this floor, plus the fire stairs. Presumably Fries – and his hired accomplices – will take the elevators. He likes his speeches, so I'll have just enough time to…slip away and—"

"Mr. Wayne?" said a small voice belonging to Alice, the receptionist he'd met yesterday, now standing before him in a beautiful blue dress.

Although he rarely forgot a face, and recalled flirting with the young woman, he hadn't really expected to see her again, let alone at such a high-class function. Then he remembered the latest trend amongst Gotham's elite: Inviting the so-called "little people" of the company to your lavish parties. It was something of a pathetic competition to see who could bring the most "underlings" in order to show off that you cared. Naturally, Bruce Wayne had to be a part of this pompous fad.

"Lovely, uh, hall isn't it?" said Alice, flashing a bright white smile.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. Hi there, Alice, wasn't it?" Bruce said, taken aback by her sudden appearance. He proceeded to make the usual small-talk.

In the corner of the room, unnoticed as always, was Jervis Tetch. He leered across the room at Wayne pouring his pretentious charm over too-trusting Alice. How she forced herself to laugh her bell-like laugh at his vacuous chatter. He gulped down his champagne and tugged at the too tight collar of his rented tuxedo. Soon she would no longer have to put up with Wayne's empty promises. Soon she would have Jervis's love – a true love. He could almost feel it.

Tetch turned his attention back towards Bill Earle, the reason he had accepted his randomly assigned invitation. Earle was his ticket to happiness. Jervis would simply have to be patient.

* * *

"Donut?" Bullock thrust the box of sugary snacks into Gordon's face.

"No thanks," said Gordon, politely pushing the cardboard container back towards his heavy-set companion.

The two law officers sat in an unmarked squad car across from the classy hotel in which Earle was attending some blue-haired shindig. Even though Gordon would have preferred getting the man to a safer and undisclosed location, he'd have to settle for the heavily-armed protection unit hidden at strategic points all around the building.

"I dunno, Commish," said Bullock between chews. "I know what day it is and all, but Fries wouldn't be so stupid to attack out in the open like this, would he?"

As if on cue, two large armoured vans rocketed onto the scene from either end of the road. Filling both lanes, the tank-like vehicles carelessly crashed through other cars as they effortlessly advanced on the hotel's main entrance with speed that betrayed their lumbering appearance.

The occupants of both vans had opened fire almost immediately on all the supposedly concealed officers. Bullock and Gordon had ducked down upon hearing the first shot and both men had gone for their radios. Bullock's would allow him to coordinate the other men while Gordon's was connected to Earle's own radio.

While Bullock ordered all units to open fire, Gordon tried to warn Earle of his predicament.

* * *

Earle had excused himself and stepped out into the foyer when his radio had begun crackling annoyingly. It was most likely the overly protective Commissioner checking up on him again.

"Gordon?" he said into the speaker, unsure if he was even using the thing correctly. "Gordon, what is it?"

There was too much static, and some sort of background noise that he couldn't identify. _"Earle! We're __**xxxxx xx**__tack!"_ was all he could make out.

Earle shook his head. He was tired of being babysat. He turned off the radio and left it on a small table, then went back into the party.

It was then that Bruce, who had followed Earle out, emerged from behind a pillar and picked up the radio, reactivating it.

"_Pinned __**xxxx**__!"_ Gordon's voice squawked. _"__**xx**__ you hear me, __**xxxxx**__!? It's Fries! He's here!"_

Bruce darted off to a locked closet to which only he and Alfred had a key for. He did not see Jervis Tetch, who had also pursued Earle, come out from behind the ball room's large wooden door.

He too had heard the radio transmission and, after he had sneered at Bruce's apparent cowardice and decision to hide, he put his own half-crazed plan into action, stepping into an elevator.

* * *

Under the covering fire of his hired protection and the shelter provided by the two wheeled behemoths, Fries easily entered the hotel's main lobby unscathed. Not that the bullets would have deterred him much anyway.

The fools he had paid to accompany him had been explicitly instructed not to kill unless absolutely necessary. Although Fries was sure they would not adhere to this principle for long – being as they were savages – he himself was determined to take the lives of only those who had murdered his, unless provoked otherwise. Soon he would have achieved this goal.

His accomplices incapacitated the hotel's staff as they made their way to the main elevators. But just as they stood before them, one set of doors opened with an inappropriate chime. Behind them stood a wiry little man with unkempt hair, who looked like a boy whose mother had dressed him in an ill-fitting tuxedo.

"Wait!" shouted the little man when Fries' men raised their weapons. "I can help you!" His hands wavered in the air almost comically.

"You?" scoffed Fries humourlessly. "Help me? I'm afraid, as I have stated elsewhere, that I am beyond help. Step aside now and you may yet live."

His hands still in the air, the man managed to blurt out "I-I can cure you! I know how to cure you!"

Fries' visage suddenly twisted into fury itself and he swiftly moved forward to grab this unintimidating man by his cheap shirt collar, hoisting him up so his head touched the roof of the elevator car.

"I have no time for fools!" Fries managed to make his monotone voice threatening. "Speak fast or die slow!"

"M-My name is Jervis T-Tetch," he stuttered. "I work for W-Wayne Enterprises as a neurotech-technician. I know where they store your solution… The thing that made you, um… I figure, you might be able to use that. You know… T-To find a cure, maybe?"

"You are ambitious, Mr. Tetch," said Fries. "But I concluded long ago that my condition is irreversible. And anyway, why would I want more of the very substance that turned me into—"

Fries froze.

While searching for a cure for himself, he had tried many times to recreate the freezing compound that had so crippled him. He had even constructed a suitable containment tank in his secret laboratory-hideout, but every attempt to synthesise his unique substance had been unsuccessful. He had never even considered that Earle would have kept his solution in storage, but that he'd have drained it all away instead, seeing no use for it.

Fries was certain that the compound itself would yield no cure for his malady, but what if he didn't use it to heal himself but rather to inflict his condition upon Bill Earle. Then Earle would experience first-hand the suffering he had caused Victor. This was better than vengeance and worse than death; Earle would suffer every day, forced to feel the same sorrow Victor felt and to wish he had never killed Nora, forever seeing her face in his nightmares. It was true justice.

"Boss?" said Jackson, Fries' lead henchman, noticing his employer's silence. "You want us to waste this guy or what?"

"Yes," said Fries. Tetch let out a pathetic yelp. "But," he added, "only if he fails to deliver." Fries lowered Tetch to the ground and released him. "You must be mad to ally yourself with the likes of me, Tetch. What is the prize you seek?"

"This is Gotham City," said Tetch. "We're _all_ mad here, Mr. Fries." His desperation fuelled him with a newfound confidence. "You must be too; otherwise you wouldn't have come here. As for what I want… You just get me into Wayne Enterprises' storage facility. That'll do me."

This warranted further discussion, but Fries had already wasted enough time. This deal would be worthless if he failed to acquire Earle himself. He ordered two of his men to take Tetch to the vans and proceeded with the task at hand.

* * *

The elevators opened with their signature noise and Fries and his men poured out and into the assembled throng. His hired assistants firing into the air to create panic and direct attentions.

"EARLE!" Fries booming voice echoed off the high ceiling, silencing the crowd's alarm. "It is time to reap what you have sown. And it will be a cold harvest."

The mass of wealthy hypocrites all parted to reveal Earle, trying to maintain his false bravado despite clearly being terrified.

"Victor?" he said, his voice trembling.

"Does it send a shiver down your spine, Earle? To see me after all these years?" Fries was slowly advancing on Earle as he spoke. "To think, for so long, that you had gotten away with MURDER!?" Earle jumped as Victor shouted the last word.

"Now hol' on a second, here," slurred an inebriated man who was just drunk enough to consider approaching Fries a good idea.

"I'm Ferris Boyle. _The_ Ferris Boyle and this man works for me. What gives you the right," he prodded Fries' armoured chest, "to s-s-s-walk in here, waving guns around…"

Fries gave the corporate magnate a distasteful look. "I feel a great dislike for you already," he commented, turning his cannon-like weapon on Boyle. The unleashed spray covered Boyle's legs and the billionaire screamed as the shocking cold turned his limbs so numb it hurt.

Two men in the crowd helped Boyle onto his back as he continued to moan in pain. Fries recognised one of them.

"Lucius?"

"Victor," his old friend said back. "Stop this madness. This isn't you."

"No," said Fries. "You're right. Victor Fries was killed along with his wife. I am here to avenge their souls." He signalled for his henchmen to take Earle. They grabbed him and the whole menacing group made their way to the exit.

But their path was blocked by the Dark Knight.

Batman leapt out of nowhere and into action; disabling three of Fries' men before any of them got off a shot. Constantly moving, he knew he'd have to take down the hired goons before moving for Fries, so as to minimise civilian casualties. But one of them still held Earle too damn close.

"I gave you fair warning!" Fries shouted, letting loose with his freezing gun.

The spray caught Batman's mid-section and he felt the thermal net warming his body, ceasing the frost's spread.

"Stand down!" Fries shouted to his armed thugs. They obeyed, giving Batman time to catch his breath, keeping his guard up nonetheless, as the ice on his chest dripped into water.

"You've made some interesting improvements," Fries nodded in appreciation. "But that man isn't so lucky," Fries pointed at Ferris Boyle. "He doesn't have much time to keep his legs. You have two choices: Stop us from fleeing and leave him in the hands of these money-hungry incompetents, or save him yourself. You and I both know it's within your expertise."

Batman made the choice. "This isn't over," he told Fries.

"No," said Fries as he and his companions entered the elevator with Earle. "But it will be soon. Don't think about climbing down the elevator shaft, by the way. I'm only going to freeze the doors shut." The doors closed and he was gone.

Batman was already over Boyle. He tore off his cape and wrapped it around Boyle's legs. Most of the assembled guests stayed back from the Batman, but Lucius and Alfred helped him with Boyle.

"It's working," said Lucius as the thermal net in the cape began thawing the CEO's legs. "Go! Get after them!" he yelled at Batman.

Batman shook his head. "It's no use. Elevator's frozen, stairs would take too long. We're too high up for my grapple and I can't jump without my cape to glide with."

Lucius sighed in defeat.

"He didn't kill Earle," said Batman. "He'll keep him alive for a while yet. Gordon and his men can follow him; find out where he's hiding."

It was then Gordon and Bullock charged in though the stair door, Bullock out of breath.

"We got up here as soon as we could," said Gordon, shaking his head. "He got away… Took out all our cars… We couldn't follow him…"

Batman got up and charged towards one of Fries' men that he had knocked out. Now regaining consciousness after being abandoned by his unfaithful master, he found himself unlucky enough to become the Batman's first target for interrogation.

Batman grabbed the front of the minion's coat. "WHERE IS FRIES!?"

* * *

Jervis found himself being manhandled through the corridors of his familiar workplace by one of Fries' goons as the rest of them easily dispensed with the unprepared security guards who worked the night-shift.

Once on the storage floor, Fries pushed Jervis out in front. "Show us," he commanded.

Nervously leading the way into the chemical containment chamber, Jervis pointed to the various canisters held within specially designed wall-mounted units. "Th-There," he said. "It should be in one of them."

As Fries calmly checked the small computer terminal, Jervis silently prayed he had not been wrong in his assumption.

"Canisters 14-A through 84-B," said Fries, just before Jervis passed out from anxiety.

Fries' men began to remove the selected tanks. "See?" said Jervis. "I got you want you want. It's even in easy-to-transport containers. Can I go now?"

"Go," said Fries. "Take your reward. And never cross my sight again."

Since this seemed to be the closest thing to 'thank you' Jervis was going to get, he hurriedly made his way to the main vault. Taking the keys from the security desk, he checked the computer's manifest and opened the appropriate drawer.

He held his precious mind-hat before himself, and it felt heavy with destiny. So single-minded he was in his heart's pursuit that he had completely suppressed the tug of his conscience.

He didn't know quite what would happen when he activated his contraption, so he reasoned he had better be somewhere more secure first. Noticing the keys he had picked up held the security staff's own car keys, he quickly made his getaway.

* * *

Back at his apartment, Jervis stood in his bedroom, once again holding the mind-hat like it was made of gold. Yet he was hesitant.

What Fox had said yesterday was true, to a degree; the device could cause cerebral damage. While Jervis was determined the effects would be, at most, minor, he could not help but worry that it may make him forget Alice and everything she meant to him.

He took a deep breath and, slipping the device over his head, told himself the gain far outweighed the risk. Just in case however, he opened his wardrobe and parted the hanging clothes to gaze upon the pictures of Alice that graced the inside. He would not forget her.

As Jervis reached up to activate the device, he whispered one word to himself.

"Alice…"

And then everything went white.


	3. Winter Wonderland

**BATMAN: SHIVER**

Chapter III

"Winter Wonderland"

Bright white light. Can't see. Rushing noise, like underwater. Can't hear. Deaf and blind. Can't feel. Can't feel anything except…

Pain.

Burning, stinging, stabbing, shooting. Needles in brain. Trying to scream, no sound comes out. Got to get it off. Got to get it out of my head. Pain. Hurt. Agony. Make it stop, make it stop, make it…

"_What is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"_

"W-What?" Jervis said, his voice quiet and tremulous. He was out of breath and shaking from writhing around on his bedroom floor. He remembered astonishing pain, a white light and a deafening roar, but it had all ceased. Now there was only colour and song. And the voices. It was all so calm. All so wonderful…

But what had happened? Why had there been pain?

_If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it I almost certain to disagree with you sooner or later._

He reached up and touched the device fixed upon his head. "Yes…" he whispered. "My hat… My magic hat…" Jervis remembered now; the hat would make things better. But how?

"_Come, we shall have some fun now!" thought Alice._

"Alice!" he shouted for joy upon recalling her. "Calloo, callay! Oh, frabjous day! My beautiful fairy friend!" Then he recalled _him_. Bruce Wayne. The dreaded Boojum. The Jubjub bird. The frumious Bandersnatch! _He_ would have to be taken care of first, so that Alice and Jervis could be alone in Wonderland.

As he pulled himself off the floor, Jervis noticed the photographs of Alice pasted inside the wardrobe. He removed the largest one from the wall and gazed tenderly at it before crushing it into his pocket. Then his eyes drifted to the old Halloween costume still hanging at the back. He chortled in his joy.

"_In that direction," said the Cat, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad."_

…_both mad._

…_lives a Hatter._

…_mad._

…_Hatter._

* * *

Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini Murciélago raced back towards his stately home on the outskirts of Gotham City. His attempt, as Batman, to interrogate Fries' men at the party had been in vain; as scared as they were of him, they were much more terrified of what Fries would do to them if they gave up his location.

Since Batman could not spend too much time in the same room as Gordon in public without generating rumours, he had needed to vanish before he could question the men more thoroughly.

While Gordon and Bullock took Fries' men into custody, he had changed back into Bruce Wayne and dismissed his guests due to the night's events. Many had proceeded to leave anyway. As if this hadn't wasted enough precious time, he had received a call regarding a break-in at Wayne Enterprises. He had sent Lucius to deal with it for the time being.

Eventually, he had managed to switch back to Batman and make his way over to Police Headquarters. Watching from afar using surveillance devices, he had discovered Bullock's own 'unique' interrogation methods. They were crude, but effective. Batman did not necessarily agree with them, but time was of the essence. One of the men had eventually cracked.

Fries was hiding out in an old warehouse formally used for storing frozen food; perfect for his condition. It was in the East End of town – that whole area was practically abandoned – and Batman had secretly communicated to Gordon that he would meet him there. First he had to stop off at the mansion and pick up the spare thermal net Lucius had sent over. He had used up the power cells on the first one at the hotel and couldn't risk facing Fries without another. He had to hurry though; there was no telling how much longer Earle had.

As he came off the Kane Bridge, his cell phone rang. He activated its speaker.

"_It's Fox."_

"Go ahead," said Bruce. "This is a secure line."

"_The break-in; it was Fries,"_ said Lucius.

"What?!" said Bruce, completely thrown off. "That doesn't make sense. Why would he rob us?"

"_He was after his cryonic solution. The one that…changed him. I completely forgot that we still had it in storage."_

"But why would he want more of the same stuff that—" Then it dawned on Bruce. "My God… He's going to use it on Earle!"

"_That was my thinking exactly,"_ said Fox. _"Have you found where Victor is hiding?"_

"Yes," said Bruce. "The police are on their way now, with SWAT, and I'll be joining them as soon as I pick up that thermal net you sent over."

"_You should have plenty of time left. It takes hours for the solution to reach optimum temperature. But I'm afraid there's more…"_

"It gets worse?" Bruce asked with dread.

"_I checked the inventory. The only other thing that was missing was Jervis Tetch's neural amplifier."_

Bruce frowned, even more confused. "You mean that…'mind-hat' he showed me yesterday? How would Fries even know about that?"

"_I don't know," said Fox, "but if Victor figures out how to work that thing…"_

"Lucius," said Bruce, his voice deadly serious, "you told me that thing wouldn't work."

"_I told you that it was dangerous, Mr. Wayne, not that it didn't work. Now if Victor turns that thing on and doesn't immediately die of a massive cerebral haemorrhage…"_

"Then we're all in big trouble…"

"_The police are still looking around. I'd better get back to them; see what I can do to help…"_

"Keep me posted," said Bruce before hanging up.

He had reached the mansion and, stepping out his car, he pondered what Fries could possibly want with a mind-control device. Did he have goals beyond his vengeance? So wrapped up was Bruce in his thinking that he barely noticed the unfamiliar car in the drive.

"Alfred?" he shouted once inside. His butler had gone home straight after the party to prepare his other Bat-suit.

Alfred stepped out of a doorway with a distressed look on his face.

"Alfred, are you alright?" Bruce asked, concerned.

The older man looked quite perplexed as he said "Master Wayne…you…have a…visitor…"

Suddenly a vase crashed over Alfred's head and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. A strangely-dressed man stood behind Alfred. He wore chequered trousers, a Victorian-style bottle-green frock coat and an oversized bowtie attached to his propped-up collar. Atop his head was a cardboard top hat with a card in the band that read 'In this Style 10/6'. It took Bruce a moment to recognize that this odd individual was Jervis Tetch.

"Tetch?" Bruce said. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Tetch, "because I'm not myself, you see."

"Tetch…" Bruce took a step towards the little man but found himself abruptly stopped in his tracks.

"That's quite enough!" Tetch shouted, holding up his hand.

"The neural amplifier!" said Bruce in horrified realisation. He couldn't tell for Tetch's makeshift hat, but his inability to move could mean only one thing. "You took it from storage!"

"It was mine!" said Tetch haughtily. "It'll put an end to my mimsy days! Begin the tale anew! Filled with wonders wild and new! But first I must dispense with you, my manxome foe…"

Bruce desperately willed his body to obey him, but was completely paralysed. "Tetch… Why are you doing this?"

Tetch snorted. "You don't know much and that's a fact!"

"Don't do this, Jervis. This isn't you; the device has done something to your mind. I can help you!"

Tetch waved his hand dismissively. "Go to the very tip-top of this humble abode…and jump off the roof."

Bruce found himself marching towards the stairs. He tried with all his might to stop, but his mind felt clouded, as if in a dream. He felt an overwhelming desire to jump off the roof, yet knew it would surely kill him. As his desire for self-preservation struggled against his urge to obey Tetch, he managed to wearily call out "Tetch! Stop this! Before it's too late!"

"Pah!" exclaimed Jervis. "Who cares for you? The time has come…" He consulted a pocket-watch from his coat and became quite flustered. "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late…"

He departed hurriedly, leaving Alfred upon the floor and Bruce ascending the staircase in a daze.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon looked at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time since his men had surrounded Fries' hideout. He had ordered the SWAT team to hang back for now, until recon was complete. That was half an hour ago.

"Commish," said Bullock, approaching Gordon's makeshift command centre. "Just got word from a unit at Wayne Enterprises. They say there's been a break-in."

"And?" said Gordon.

"It was Fries and his men. They stole several tanks of that cryonic stuff that gave Fries his chilly disposition."

Gordon frowned as he connected all the pieces together. "My God… That's why he hasn't killed Earle yet; he's going to use that freezing solution on him."

Bullock came to same realisation. "Turn him into… Well, like Fries."

Gordon used his radio to check with their rooftop sniper, who had a perfect view into the formerly abandoned warehouse. He confirmed that Earle was still alive. Gordon sighed with relief.

"Commissioner," said Bullock, "we can't wait any longer on the Caped Crusader. There's no telling how long Earle has left."

"What the hell do you suggest I do, Lieutenant?" Gordon snapped. "Even a whole damn SWAT team's no match for him."

"I might have an idea about that, sir," said Bullock, strapping on a bullet-proof vest. "You give me the nod and I'll give Doctor Fries a taste of his own medicine…"

* * *

Earle became immediately aware of the cold upon regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes to see that he was tied to a grated metal platform in a large warehouse. Beneath him was a tank filled with the same viscous liquid he had seen three years ago.

Fries' henchmen stood on the floor some distance away, still heavily armed, while Victor himself loomed over Earle, standing before a console on a walkway connected to Earle's platform. Fries was still in his cryo-suit, meaning that, while it was very cold, it was still nowhere near cold enough for him to survive.

"She loved the Winter…" said Fries. He wasn't even looking at Earle, but rather checking over the console's readings.

"W-What?" asked Earle, his teeth chattering.

Fries sighed. "My Nora… She used to say that the cold made her appreciate her own inner warmth… That even when the whole world froze around her, she still had something within that would make her smile… I still remember her smile…"

"V-Victor," said Earle, "I know w-what I did was wrong – I admit that now…"

"Now!?" Fries turned from the console. "You admit it _now_!? What good is hindsight to me, Earle? To Nora? I have no sympathy for a man who only repents in the face of death."

"Please don't kill me…" Earle pleaded.

Fries gave a slight smirk. "A poor choice of words on my part. My original intention was to kill you, yes, but now I have been granted a much more… judicial means of avenging my beloved. Very 'an-eye-for-an-eye'."

Fries moved to stand over Earle's bound form. "Recognise the fluid beneath you? It is the very same solution that turned me into… _this_." Fries indicated his cryo-suit. "And it will do the same to you."

"No," Earle gasped, fully realising Fries plan. "You can't…"

"You dare mock me, Earle? Tell me I cannot exact my pound of flesh? I could kill you, torture you, leave you to the mercy of the courts, but I chose this, almost karmic, means to have my revenge.

"You will become like me, Earle. A ghost, forced to live in isolation with nothing but memories to keep you warm.

"As for me, I'm sure I will be dealt with by the so-called law of this land. Prison perhaps - not that any prison could cause me any greater suffering than I am in now - but most likely a death sentence. Freedom at last…" With that hushed comment, Fries turned back to the console.

"Victor," said Earle, "please… I wish-"

"Wish!?" Fries yelled, turning once again to loom over Earle. "You wish what, Earle?! You wish things had happened differently? That Nora was still alive? Is that what you wish?"

"Yes," Earle gasped in panic.

"Then get used to wishing it every day for the rest of your sorry existence, as I have. Perhaps it shall come true for you if not for me."

Fries turned from Earle's terror-stricken form but before he could resume his calculations, one of the windows of the warehouse was shattered and a small object landed in the middle of the floor, rousing his hired minions.

"What the…?" said Jackson, the lead henchman, staring down at the cylindrical object.

Fries squinted to see it from his platform but as soon as he realised its purpose he shouted "Back you fools! It's the police! They've found us!"

The object was indeed a police-issue gas grenade, and before his goons could heed Fries' warning it sprayed its content, sending four of them to the ground. Three more containers smashed through windows.

"Arm yourselves!" Fries yelled, strapping on his freezing weapon. "They've come for what's mine…"

There was an explosion at the main door and a SWAT team poured through. Fries men opened fire, but the gas as already thick in the air. Fries stood at the edge of his platform, firing his cold gun into the smoke.

In the chaos, Bullock easily entered through a rear door. With everyone facing away from him, and the noise of the gunfight, he climbed unnoticed onto the platform over the coolant tank. He slowly crawled over to Earle and made the universally understood sign for _'shhh'_ as he undid Earle's bonds.

"Out the back," Bullock whispered, pointing Earle in the right direction. "There's officers outside."

As Bullock helped Earle climb down, Fries turned from the fray and noticed the escape attempt.

"What!?" Fries yelled, turning to aim his weapon.

"Go!" Bullock shouted to Earle. Before Fries could act, Bullock grabbed a large wrench from a nearby toolkit and hurled it at Fries. It merely scratched Fries' domed glass helmet, but provided enough of a distraction that Earle made the exit.

Bullock then produced his gun and fired futilely at the mechanical man. Fries simply crushed Bullock's gun in the stocky detective's hand, and then knocked him out with one punch.

"Escape," said Fries, "does not come that easy."

* * *

Outside, Gordon stood with Earle, who was wrapped in the customary blanket given to persons in distress.

"Sir," another officer approached them. "SWAT's emerging." Gordon looked over to see the team coming out of the warehouse with Fries' men in cuffs, but not Fries himself.

"Get Branden over here," said Gordon. Lieutenant Branden was the officer leading the SWAT team.

"What the hell's going on, Lieutenant?" Gordon demanded. "Where's Fries? Where's Lieutenant Bullock?"

"Fries has Bullock held hostage, Commissioner," said Branden wearily.

"What?!"

"Several of his men surrendered, but when the gas cleared Fries had Lieutenant Bullock unconscious. He said we were all to leave and to tell you that if Bill Earle isn't sent back in there within fifteen minutes, he'll kill the Lieutenant."

"Goddam it!" Gordon yelled, kicking over a folding chair. He looked up into the black night sky. "Where are you…?"

* * *

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, there was a voice telling him not to open the door. But for Bruce, ignoring the compulsion was like trying to stay awake when all your body wants is sleep. He watched as he opened the door to the roof and he stepped out into the cold.

As the freezing air lashed at his emotionless features, Bruce made his way slowly towards the ledge of the roof, still under Tetch's spell. His conscious mind, which controlled his movements, was no longer his own, but his subconscious screamed at himself to stop, while at the same time it also wanted to simply give in. Bruce knew that, if not for his determination, he would have been on the roof much sooner.

He climbed onto the short wall at the ledge and stood, ready to obey Tetch's command as if it were his destiny. He closed his eyes, ready to wake up from this nightmare, and took a step forward.

Just as Bruce felt the tug of gravity pulling him downwards, he was sharply pulled back onto the roof.

Suddenly free of the fog that had clouded his mind, and in full control of himself again, Bruce looked down to see one of his grapple wires wrapped around his midsection. He looked up to see Alfred standing over him, holding one of the Batman's grapple guns.

"Gotcha," the old man panted, out of breath.

* * *

"Tetch has the mind-control device," said Bruce, "and it works perfectly."

He and Alfred had gone straight from the roof to the Cave and called Lucius.

"_Tetch?"_ said Fox over the Cave's comm system. _"How did he-?"_

"We don't have time to speculate," said Bruce as he changed into the Bat-suit. "Right now I need to get over to Dini Street in the East End. Gordon will need help with Fries. Things might have gotten bad there by now, Earle might even be dead for all we know."

"Sir," said Alfred. He was at the console which monitored police radio transmissions. "Gordon and his men are still at Fries' warehouse, but there's something about a hostage situation going on."

Bruce simply nodded. "Lucius, how can I stop Tetch?"

There was a pause, then, _"How did he seem? Did he act… unstable?"_

"Yeah, he seemed totally delusional. He was babbling, dressed oddly…"

"_Just as I thought: The device didn't kill him, but it sounds like it's done lasting cerebral damage. I'm no neurologist, but he's probably suffering massive mental shock. He could be psychotic."_

"This doesn't sound like an advantage, Lucius."

"_He won't be thinking straight. Won't be using the device to its fullest potential. It's probably taxing him already. Tell me, what has he used it for?"_

"First he knocked out Alfred, then he nearly had me jump off the roof," said Bruce. "Luckily, Alfred came 'round just in time."

Lucius paused again. _"Okay, if I've figured this right, then Tetch can either totally dominate someone, but this requires constant concentration, or he can implant a command that the victim has to carry out unless interrupted._

"_Being in constant control will tax his mind too much. So long as you remain more focused – so long as your willpower is greater than his – you can override him."_

"Right," acknowledged Bruce. He removed the regular cape he wore and Alfred helped him attach Lucius' thermal net cape. "Anything else?"

"_Why'd he try and throw you off a roof?"_

"Didn't you notice the way he kept looking at that secretary – Alice – and the way he kept looking at me? He's clearly infatuated with her and sees me as some kind of threat."

"_Can't say I had noticed. But this must mean his memories are intact, and that means…"_

"Alice is in danger," said Bruce gravely. "I need to get over to Gordon. I'll keep you updated, Lucius." He ended the call.

Instead of going immediately to the Bat-pod, the Dark Knight stood silently, his breathing heavy but steady.

"Sir?" said Alfred.

"I can't do this, Alfred. Fries, Tetch… They're too powerful. I never, in all my training, prepared for this…"

"If you didn't prepare for it, Master Wayne, then I'm confident nobody did. But you're all we've got. And we need you."

"I thought maybe I could handle Fries… But Tetch… What do I do against someone who can control my mind, Alfred?"

"Mr. Fox said you just had to have the greater will, sir. And if dressing up as a bat and doing what you do every night doesn't require massive amounts of willpower, then I don't know what does. Now, are you going to go out there and do everything you can to bring these madmen to justice or are you going to sit here and ponder what you _can't_ do?"

The Batman silently got on the Bat-pod and roared out of the Cave.

"That's what I thought," said Alfred.

* * *

Bullock hung suspended from chains in a rough crucifix formation. He would have found it ridiculous if his life were not endangered by the psychopath pacing before him. Fries hoisted Bullock up on pulleys so his feet were about a metre and a half from the ground.

"Y'know," Bullock said, "I'll never get why you freaks give such a big time limit on these kinda things. Fifteen minutes is just the amount of time required for the Commissioner to come up with a foolproof rescue plan."

"Fifteen minutes is ample time for your Commissioner to realise that there is no way to stop me," said Fries. "If I do not get what I want, I will kill you and everyone in my path until Bill Earle is dead."

"Dead?" said Bullock. "You don't wanna freeze him anymore?"

"A foolish romantic notion," said Fries, shaking his head. "The stuff of revenge fantasies. In my arrogance, I have attracted too much attention to myself and now my hand is forced. Quick or slow, Earle must die."

Bullock decided to go out on a limb. "It wasn't his fault, y'know," he said. "What happened to your wife."

Fries shot Bullock a look that was colder than the whole room. "How dare you," he hissed. "How dare you presume to know so much about my life."

"Way I heard it," said Bullock, unfazed, "it was just an accident. You're, uh – what do those head doctors call it? – projecting, yeah. You're projecting your grief onto Earle in the form of anger. I see this kinda thing all the time."

"Silence!"

"Well wouldya look at that," Bullock teased. "I broke through your icy exterior."

Fries pressed his gun against Bullock's stomach. "Fifteen minutes," he said, "is suddenly becoming a _very_ long time…"

* * *

"Commissioner," said Lt. Branden, "we need to mount another incursion. My men and I-"

"Will do what, Branden?" Gordon shouted. "Waste more bullets on Fries' armour? Get frozen to death? Because unless you know someone with a _tank_ we can borrow, no-one is going back in there!"

Gordon resumed rubbing his forehead and looking over the warehouse plans, just in case some secret and tactically advantageous entry point presented itself.

Branden remained in the Commissioner's command tent. "You're waiting on _him_, aren't you, sir?" he asked, his voice tinged with anger.

"I don't know who you mean, Lieutenant," Gordon replied.

"Not everyone in this department is stupid, Commissioner," said Branden. "We don't all believe that crap you tell the papers. You and the Bat are still working together, even though he's a bastard cop-killer."

Gordon rose swiftly, knocking his chair down, and went toe-to-toe with Branden. "That's a damned heavy accusation to throw around, Lieutenant, especially when one of your fellow officers has his life on the line. As much as I'd like to tell you how full of crap you are right now, I'm more interested in saving that man's life. Now you get out there and get _my_ men ready to go at a moment's notice while I think up a plan of action that doesn't result in needless death."

Branden simply said, "You can't hide this forever… _sir_," and left.

Gordon finally sighed and turned back to the table, only to see Batman standing behind him.

"Where the hell have-?"

"No time," said Batman. "What's the situation?"

Gordon quickly collected his thoughts. "We got Earle out, but now Bullock is being held hostage by Fries, who says he'll kill him in…" Gordon checked his watch, "…two minutes."

Expressionless, Batman said, "We have a new problem. But… it can wait for now."

"A new problem?" said Gordon. But Batman was gone.

* * *

"Your time is almost up," said Fries. "I suppose I should have known better than to expect reason in this city. Someone recently told me that everyone in Gotham is mad."

"Wouldn't know," said Bullock. "I'm from outta town. But from what I've seen so far, I'd say that about sums it up. You from Gotham by any chance, Doc?"

Fries, ignoring Bullock's chatter, checked a digital clock on the platform's control panel. He sighed. "Is nothing in my life to be simple any more?"

Fries hoisted his gun towards Bullock. "This, as they say, is it, Lieutenant. I suppose it would be remiss of me not to offer you your final words. Have you anything to say? You are, after all, about to meet your maker."

A large grin suddenly spread across Bullock's grizzled features as he noticed a dark figure behind Fries. "That'll be a cold day in Hell," he said.

Fries saw the look in Bullock's eyes, but before he could turn, he was engulfed in darkness as the Batman threw his cape, which contained the thermal net, over the imposing figure and secured it in place.

As steam hissed from Fries who scrambled to remove the heated garment, Batman produced a small acetylene torch from his utility belt and used it to cut Bullock's chains. Once free, they attempted to flee but were stopped by a shout.

"Don't move!" Fries yelled, having torn the thermal cape off. It had only succeeded in melting the thin layer of frost which covered Fries' armour, as well as every other surface in the warehouse. The cryo-suit itself was still unscathed.

Fries was chuckling. "A foolish misconception, 'Batman'. My cryo-suit was _designed_ to withstand warm temperatures. The irony is; it can't stand the cold."

Batman, ever-vigilant, had notice Fries, in his panicked frenzy, was now standing in a loop made by the chains he had restrained Bullock with.

"Thanks for the science lesson," said Batman as he simultaneously threw a handful of flashbangs at Fries, kicked Bullock to the ground, and threw himself toward the pulley controls.

The flashbangs sufficiently disorientated Fries, causing him to fire his weapon blindly, hitting only equipment, as Batman threw a lever on the control panel, causing the chains to sweep upward, throwing Fries backwards and into the tank below that contained his own cryonic solution.

Batman then plunged himself forward to lean over the tank, his arm cast downward. "Fries! Take my hand!"

As Fries' suit caused him to slowly sink to the bottom, he looked up with hatred at the Batman. But then it melted into a look of resignation.

"No," Fries said. "Perhaps now, I can finally be with my beloved…" With that he disappeared, completely submerged by his own creation.

Batman pulled himself to his feet, his eyes still pointed at Fries' vanishing point.

"Good riddance," said Bullock. He produced a cigar and tried to get his lighter to ignite in the frozen air. Batman gave him a look. "Hey, at least it's over, right?" Batman maintained his stare. "Aw crap. It ain't over, is it?"

* * *

Alice Lytton had been through quite enough excitement for one night. She had only just got home from the fiasco at the charity event downtown. The police had questioned everyone thoroughly and at length.

She was beginning to wonder if her mother had been right about moving to Gotham City. With the riots in the Narrows two years ago, this 'Joker' guy just a few months back and the general threat of the Batman – not to mentioned ordinary, everyday muggers and rapists – Alice's mother was never off the phone, making sure her daughter was okay. When this latest maniac hit the news, she was sure to call again.

Alice decided to deal with everything in the morning and went to lock her apartment door, when it was thrown open. A strange, and yet familiar, man stood in the doorway.

"J-Jervis?" asked Alice. "Is that you?"

"Good day to you, my dear," said Tetch, tipping the brim of his ridiculous hat, "and happy un-birthday. I've come to invite you to a tea party…"


	4. Hearts and Minds

**BATMAN: SHIVER**

Chapter IV

"Hearts and Minds"

Jervis Tetch's one-bedroom apartment was cluttered, like most homes owned by single men. Various fast food containers lay strewn around; the kitchen, hardly used; the couch, poised before the wide-screen TV, looked more slept-in than the bed; and the bedroom itself looked like a fight had broken out in it.

The silence hanging in the apartment was broken when the door came crashing in. Lt. Harvey Bullock followed. He immediately saw the Batman standing in the darkness of the bedroom.

"Wait outside," he told the officers accompanying him. "I thought you were going to the girl's place?" he said to Batman.

"I've been," the Dark Knight replied. "The door was open and there were signs of a struggle, but Tetch and Ms. Lytton are long gone."

Bullock removed his hat and rubbed a hand through his unruly hair. "I still can't get my head over this… Mind control? Is this real?"

Batman ignored the question. "Where's Gordon?"

"He, uh, he took Earle back to HQ. Turns out he wants to confess everything. Go figure."

"Never underestimate the people of Gotham City," said Batman, still looking over the room. "There's good in them yet."

"Bats… if this really is mind control… Should we be dealing with this on our own? I mean, shouldn't we call the government, or NASA, or somebody? Hell, Mulder and Scully would do! We're out of our league!"

"We take care of our own in Gotham, Lieutenant," said Batman. "Besides, there's no time. Tetch has almost literally lost his mind; there's no telling what he could do. Now, put aside your confusion and doubt, treat this like any other crime scene, and help me look for clues as to Tetch's whereabouts."

Bullock nodded. "Right, right… Did you really think he'd come back here anyway?"

"He's not thinking straight. He was infatuated with Alice Lytton, a co-worker. Right now, she's the only thing he can think about clearly." Batman pointed to a haphazardly spread rug on the floor. "He has been here – when he activated the mental amplifier, he would have experienced convulsions. This rug and other items have been disturbed in a manner consistent with such a fit."

"How d'you…" Bullock stopped himself. The Commissioner had told him it was pointless to question the Batman's knowledge or sources. He was just always right.

"But for some reason," continued Batman, "he didn't return here with her. To his home. There must be somewhere else more valued, more important, in his mind."

Bullock was already casting a glance over the living room. "Y'know, Bats, I see guys like this all the time. Young, single, real smart… but no social life, no friends. Guys like that, they love their work. Maybe he took her to…" He turned, but Batman had already departed.

* * *

Jasper Dolan was no stranger to late-night phone calls. As GCPD's coroner he was usually the first one called when a victim of 'cruel and unusual' crimes came in, and those were the kind of crimes that happened in Gotham almost every night.

He yawned and stretched his near-sixty-year-old body into an awakened state as he strolled casually into the police morgue. He was greeted by a seven-foot-long metallic corpse, frozen like a slab of butcher's meat. He could hear the steel gurney creaking under the weight.

"What have we hear?" he asked as if it was something he saw every day.

"Victor Fries," said the young patrolman standing by the body. "This one's a long story, Doc."

"Ah yes," said Dolan, reading off the file that came with the body. "The man from the news. Well, I imagine I'll have to get him out of that odd suit first." He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and started searching for a means to undo the cryo-suit.

"Ah!" Dolan recoiled from the touch. "He's freezing cold."

"No kiddin'," said the patrolman. "He was frozen in some special fluid. It's all in the chart. You need a hand?"

"No, no," said Dolan. He went back to searching the body. "I just can't see any sort of catch or release mechanism…"

In a blur of motion, the corpse's hand reached up to grab Dolan by the neck. Victor Fries opened his eyes.

"Let him go!" shouted the patrolman, pointing his firearm at the frozen zombie.

Fries pulled himself into a sitting position and the patrolman opened fire. In annoyance, Fries grabbed the metal instrument tray by the bed and hurled it towards the young officer, knocking him unconscious.

"Did they really think," said Fries to Dolan, who gasped for air, "that my solution – which I created to _preserve_ life – would kill me!?" His voice was quieter and more laboured than usual. "There is nothing keeping me alive now but my thirst for vengeance!"

Fries, still holding Dolan at arms length, got up off the bed with difficulty. The cryonic solution had badly damaged his suit, and the gunfire (which had no doubt attracted attention) had left marks in his formerly invulnerable armour. He knew he couldn't have much time left.

"Where is Earle!?"

* * *

"Mister Earle," said Gordon, sitting across from Earle in the dingy interrogation room, "your lawyer is on his way. I'd advise you not to say anything until you've spoken with him."

Earle nodded without looking up.

"To be honest," said Gordon, "I'm not even sure of the legal implications myself. I don't even know if there's a crime here. It was an accident, and all persons concerned are deceased…"

"I should still answer for my actions," said Earle, still not looking up from the dirty table.

"But why, Earle," asked Gordon. He leaned across the table, eager for an answer. "You've got so much to lose, over something so small. Why?"

Earle looked up and into the Commissioner's eyes. "Because Harvey Dent showed us that justice – that _honour_ – still exists in Gotham City. He died for that ideal… Who am I to corrupt it?"

Gordon leaned back in his chair. For the first time since that night months ago when he and the Batman had forged their own truth over Harvey Dent's broken body, Gordon truly felt that it was worth living the lie.

This revolutionary moment was interrupted by a young detective barging in. "Commissioner!" he yelled. "It's Fries! He's still alive and he's coming up here!"

"Oh my God," screamed Earle, backing into the corner. "Will it never be done!?"

"Stay down," commanded Gordon of Earle. He produced his own gun and told the detective and the officer who had been guarding the room, "You two, watch the door!"

"It's no good, sir," said the detective. "He's throwing our men aside like they were made of paper. He's definitely slower, but–"

The door was thrown off its hinges and into the guarding officer. One down. The detective and Gordon unleashed fire on Fries who stormed into the room with hellish purpose. His heavy fist collided with the detective's head. Two down.

Fries lumbered towards Gordon, picking up a chair and hurling it towards the Commissioner. Gordon ducked and picked up the chair himself. Bullets, although previous ineffective against Fries, now made dents in his cryo-suit, but they weren't enough. Gordon brought the chair down on Fries' glass helmet. In its weakened state it cracked, but not by much.

"Earle, run!" Gordon yelled.

Fries threw the Commissioner to the ground. Three down. Earle hadn't even tried to move. Fries picked up the table and jammed it into the doorway to insure he would not be interrupted.

"I… I don't… have much time… left…" Fries huffed, making his way slowly over to Earle. "But you… have… even less…" He grabbed Earle by the neck and pulled him up the wall. Earle began to gasp and sputter, his eyes bulging and his face turning red as Fries tightened his grip.

Fries' face, white as snow and bisected by the diagonal crack down his frosted dome, was without emotion, as normal, but his eyes – like twin fishing holes made in a frozen lake – were alive with fury unrivalled.

"Can… you… feel it, Earle? The life being… choked… out of you! Your… last moments… disappearing! Something… Something my… beloved Nora… was denied… No more… schemes or… deadlines, Earle… You die like she died… Without warning… And then… at last… I can be…"

There was a deafening bang, and the front of Fries' dome suddenly became red and a bullet-hole appeared in the wall next to Earle's head. The iceman's grip loosened around Earle's neck and his titanic body fell backwards onto the hard floor, shattering his glass dome and revealing a hole in Victor's forehead.

At the other end of the room, directly behind where Fries had been, Jim Gordon knelt with a smoking gun in his hand.

Gordon let out a breath and stood, walking over to help Earle up. "It's over this time, Mr. Earle," he said. "It's done."

Earle slowly rose, still fixated on Fries' unmoving form. There was a tear, frozen solid on Victor's cheek, that Earle was sure hadn't been there before.

* * *

Batman had entered Wayne Enterprises through a rear door and went straight to Jervis Tetch's lab. He had found it disappointingly empty. He now silently made his way toward the front entrance, to the main security checkpoint. From there, he could monitor the entire building and determine if Tetch was indeed at his workplace, as Bullock had deduced.

Dropping soundlessly from a ceiling vent, he found the foyer alarmingly vacant. He had expected to have to incapacitate several security guards.

"Thank God you're here," a voice hissed. It was Lucius Fox, rising from behind the security monitors.

"What happened?" Batman asked. "Where's Tetch? Where are the guards?"

"Tetch came through here with that secretary, but he was like you said; delusional. I told security to stop him and… he…"

"Fox?"

Lucius was clearly shaken. "He… made them shoot each other… My God, it was horrible… He's insane. The device has totally destroyed his mind."

"Where is he now?" asked Batman.

"I put the bodies away… Didn't seem right to leave them out… Then I thought about calling the police, but there's nothing they could do, he's too powerful. So I've been watching him. Waiting for you.

"He kept two guards alive and had them bring him various items from the kitchens. He's in the main conference room. He took out the cameras, but that'll be where he is. With the girl and maybe the two guards if he hasn't killed them too."

Batman nodded his thanks and made for the elevator. "The police are on their way. When they get here, explain the situation to a Lieutenant Bullock. He'll know what to do."

Not willing to wait on the elevator car, Batman punched through the ceiling hatch and fired his grapple straight up the lift shaft.

Upon reaching the desired floor, he steeled himself for the difficult encounter. It was somewhat beneficial that Tetch had come to Wayne Tower. It meant Batman was on familiar terrain. A small bonus, but it counted nonetheless.

Prying open the elevator doors, he made his way to the conference room. He could hear the clatter of cutlery, Alice faintly sobbing, and Tetch's high-pitched voice.

"Make a remark!" he was shouting. "It's ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding."

"Jervis, please," Alice said. "I don't understand… Please, just let me go…"

Batman opened the doors just a crack to see in. He couldn't risk going in blind – with Tetch's device, he needed all the advantages he could get.

What he saw could have come straight out of a story book.

Alice sat at the head of the long table, at the end furthest from the door. Tetch was at her right and the two security guards sat on her left, blank faced and obviously under Tetch's control. Yet Alice was strangely free. There were various items of culinary paraphernalia cluttering the table: teapots, tea cups, mugs, cakes, and other such things.

Tetch regarded Alice quizzically and asked "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"I don't know," Alice sobbed. "I just wanna go home…"

Tetch pulled a large carving knife out of a cake and brandished it wildly. "Why is a raven like a writing desk!?" he bellowed.

Batman realised he had to make his move now. Tetch was becoming too violent. He couldn't risk attacking directly – Tetch held that knife far too close to Alice – so he had to be less subtle than he would've liked.

He kicked the doors open and shouted "Tetch! Drop the knife and let the girl go!"

Tetch, with the knife poised at Alice's throat, observed Batman for a moment, seemingly in awe. Then he shrieked "No room! No room!" He turned to the guards. "March Hare! Dormouse! Dispense with the unwanted guest!"

The guards rose and ran towards Batman. He couldn't risk hurting them, but he had little choice. The first he easily tackled over his shoulder, but the second produced a gun. Batman quickly knocked it out of his hand with a timely batarang. The first guard had come to his senses and grabbed Batman by the neck from behind. Batman flipped him over his head and he collided with the second guard, both of them now out cold.

As Batman reached for another batarang to incapacitate Tetch, he found himself once again frozen.

"The Jabberwock!" said Tetch, fixing him with an intense stare. "As large as life and twice as natural!"

"Tetch…" said Batman. "You're not well… They can help you…"

"On your knees!" said Tetch and Batman obeyed, despite his strong will against it. He needed something to distract Tetch and his hold over him.

"Jervis," Alice said, tears running down her cheeks. "Please, I don't want this, I just want–"

"Quiet!" shouted Tetch and Alice immediately stopped talking. He was dividing his control, thus weakening it.

Batman could already feel his fingers obeying his own commands, independent of Tetch. But he needed more self-control.

"You… You didn't want to control her, did you, Tetch?" said Batman. "You wanted her to be with you willingly…"

"Silence!" yelled Tetch, but Batman kept talking thanks to a mixture of Tetch's diluted control and his own overpowering will.

"But now… Now that you've realised she doesn't want you… not in the same way you want her… you're content to control her… Like some sick little puppet!"

"Quiet!" Tetch screamed, clutching the sides of his head. "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! QUIET!" He picked up the carving knife again and held it at Batman's throat. "OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"

More control was returning to Batman. He could now move his entire right hand. "You never loved her, Jervis. It was always just obsession. You don't care about her at all – you just want to own her like she was a toy! A mindless doll for your own perverted amusement!"

"NO!" Tetch yelled, his eyes maniacally wide.

"Last chance, Tetch," said Batman. His hand reached into a pocket in his utility belt and produced a flashbang which he concealed in his palm. "Let us go and turn yourself in… or I _will_ bring you down myself."

Tetch, his breathing heavy with madness, simply drew back his arm and prepared to bring the blade down on Batman's neck.

Batman closed his eyes and crushed the flashbang in his fist. The resulting flare of light and sound caused Tetch to drop the knife and instinctively put his hands up in front of his face. It also broke his concentration.

The Dark Knight did not waste the opportunity. He took down Tetch with a well-placed punch. His cardboard hat flew off as he hit the floor and revealed the metallic band of the neural amplifier, firmly fixed upon Jervis's head.

Lt. Bullock ran in as Batman was making sure to safely remove the device. Alice, also free of Tetch's control, sat shivering in her chair. Bullock wrapped his coat around her.

"'S'alright," said Bullock. "I'm a cop. You're safe now."

"He was… in my head…" Alice whispered. "He could've made me do… anything…" She started to cry into Bullock's shoulder.

Batman stood, holding the amplifier carefully. "Hey, Bats," said Bullock, "y'know, in the right hands, that thing could really–"

Batman crushed the device in his grip. "There is no such thing as 'the right hands', Lieutenant. Trust me."

"Yeah," said Bullock. "You're probably right." He nodded towards Tetch. "What about him? Is he… fixed now?"

Batman looked down at Jervis Tetch's unconscious body. "The damage that was done to his mind is most likely permanent, but he's no longer a threat without his device. He belongs in Arkham."

Tetch began to stir. "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat…" he muttered to himself. "How I wonder what you're at…"

* * *

Alfred, still nursing a bump on the head from last night, made his way towards his master's bedroom with his breakfast. Bruce was already awake and standing at the window. The memory of Bruce standing in the same position just after his parents' funeral staggered Alfred momentarily.

"Breakfast, sir," he said calmly. Bruce did not turn. "Mr. Fries and that other madman have been taken care of, sir. What could still be troubling you?"

"What if this is just the beginning?" Bruce said.

"Beginning of what, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked as he laid down the breakfast tray.

"Weapons that can freeze someone to death in the blink of an eye, men strong enough to rip metal in two… _mind control_, Alfred."

"This was just a case of bad luck, sir," said Alfred. "Fries coming back at the same time Mr. Tetch developed his device… It's unlikely to occur again."

"We've already seen men like the Joker, who are willing to adapt their methods around Batman, why not their _means_ as well? At WayneTech, I've seen technology you wouldn't believe, and if we can do it others can to. It's only a matter of time before there are more criminals out there with weapons and devices that I can't defeat."

Alfred went over and stood beside Bruce at the window. "We knew, right from the start, that what you set out to do would not be easy. We knew that as Batman pushed against the underworld, they would push back harder. You're swimming against the tide, sir, but does that mean you should just give up?"

Bruce turned to look at Alfred for the answer.

"No," said Alfred. "It just means you swim even harder."

"But that's what I'm saying, Alfred… Will it ever stop?"

"A great man recently said that the night is darkest just before the dawn… Even at the end, I think he truly believed that."

Leaving his words to sink in; Alfred turned but stopped just as a last thought popped in his head. "Besides, Master Bruce, if you quit I might have a bloody thing or two to say about it."

Just as Alfred reached the door, Bruce spoke up again. "Alfred… That Nietzsche quote… The one you recited in the Cave…"

Alfred dug through his memory for a moment. "There is always some madness in love."

"That's not the whole quote," said Bruce. "He also said that there is also some reason in madness."

"You think that Mr. Tetch can still be reasoned with, sir? Can still be helped?"

Bruce smirked mirthlessly. "What kind of man is it that prays his enemies will get stronger?"

"The best kind, Master Bruce... The best kind..."

* * *

Jim Gordon stood alone on the roof of Police Headquarters before the wrecked Bat-signal. The shattered glass had been cleared away, but a replacement cover had yet to be fitted for the large searchlight. Without it, contacting Batman was much more difficult, but not impossible. As evidenced by their arranged meeting tonight.

"Do you remember what we talked about," said a deep and familiar voice behind Gordon, "the first time we met on this rooftop?"

Gordon slowly turned to see the Batman standing there plain as night. "Escalation," replied Gordon, knowing where his grim associate was heading. It was something he too had wondered on.

"Fries' weapon, Tetch's neural amplifier… Could just be the beginning…" said Batman woefully.

"If that's the case…" said Gordon. "If crime makes that step into the unknown… People may begin to see the need for you again. We certainly won't be up to the challenge. Will you?"

Batman paused for a moment. "I can only do what I have always done – my best."

"That's all I've ever needed," said Gordon.

"It may not be enough."

Gordon looked down. "You know what Bill Earle said when I asked him why he was turning himself in?" He looked up at the Batman. "He said it was because of Harvey Dent.

"Just because you don't always see the outcome of your actions or the impact of your presence doesn't mean you aren't doing something right. It may be the crooks and the psychos who come out on top at the end of the day, but in the long-run... it's men like _you_ who are victorious."

The two men stood silently and their mutual respect could almost be seen manifesting in the cool air. Then Batman spoke.

"What will happen to Earle?"

"He's being investigated and tried for the accidental death of Nora Fries," said Gordon. "He's also paying for Victor Fries' burial personally, and those of Martin Cale and Robert O'Dowd."

"What about you?" said Batman.

"Me?"

"You shot Fries. Was it hard?"

Gordon sighed. "I'm a cop. It's what I was trained to do… But, no, that never makes it any easier… Been a long time since I used my gun like that… Not long enough…"

"We both do what we have to," said Batman.

"What d'you make of Bullock?" asked Gordon, changing the subject.

"He's brash and unruly… But essentially a good man."

"Glad you approve," said Gordon, "because as head of the MCU, he'll be in charge of hunting you down. I've precious few allies in this department. Too many of my officers are asking questions about the operation to bring you in."

"Branden?"

Gordon nodded. "He's the worst of it. For now. But it's nothing I can't handle…"

"For now." Batman let those words hang for a moment before asking "And Tetch?"

"Murder and kidnapping charges. Mr. Fox over at Wayne Enterprises turned over all information he had on this 'mind-hat'. Should hold up in the courts, plus the testimony from him, Ms. Lytton and the two guards, as well as Bruce Wayne himself who was attacked too apparently."

"Hm," grunted Batman. "Tetch will be sent to Arkham?"

Gordon nodded again. "They've already diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic with obsessive compulsive disorder… He's highly delusional as well; totally regressed into this 'Mad Hatter' persona…"

"The device fractured his mind," said Batman. "In his mental anguish, he latched onto a positive childhood memory and submerged himself within it. As a form of psychological protection."

"You're in the wrong line of work," Gordon joked. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Bullock.

"Gordon," he said into the phone. "No, I'm on the roof, Lieutenant. Just… getting some air…" He listened for a moment. "Uh-huh… I'll be right down. Get Branden over there, but tell him not to blow anything up without my permission." He hung up and to his surprise; Batman had not chosen to vanish. "There's a–"

"Hostage situation at the Goyer Centre," said Batman with his usual prescience. "Three disgruntled ex-marines with shotguns. Shouldn't be difficult." He was already heading for the ledge.

"Wait," said Gordon. "What about Tetch? You think he's treatable?"

Batman paused on the edge of the roof. "The neurological damage the device caused may be irreversible. Even if it isn't; Tetch was shallow, petty and amoral to begin with – his obsession with Ms. Lytton and willingness to aid a known murderer like Fries proves that. He may not want to come back to reality. He might be happy with his fantasy world. His Wonderland…"

"But is he still dangerous?" asked Gordon.

"He is a genius, but lacks any technical skill. With his neural amplifier destroyed, he's harmless. We have no more to fear from Jervis Tetch, Commissioner."

Batman dropped off the roof and into the dark night.

* * *

"Welcome to Arkham Asylum, Mister Tetch. I'm Doctor Burton and I'm the Chief Psychiatrist here." Dr. Burton smiled widely as he greeted the Asylum's newest inmate.

"Where's my hat!?" snapped Tetch, writhing uncomfortably in his orange jumpsuit.

The guards led Jervis down a long corridor lined with doors as Dr. Burton continued his spiel.

"If you are well behaved and obey all our rules here at Arkham, we might let you have personal affects, such as hats, Jervis," said Dr. Burton. "May I call you Jervis?"

"I'm the Hatter!" Tetch insisted.

"Of course you are," said Dr. Burton. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months. Everyone here is your friend, Jervis. We're trying to make you better."

"I'm the Hatter!" Tetch said again.

They passed a door marked 'Crane, J.' and a thin, pale man with tousled black hair was leaning against the window.

"You don't have to be crazy to be incarcerated here," said the man, "but it helps…" His voice had no trace of humour in it whatsoever.

"Settle down, Crane," said one of the guards, rapping the window with his nightstick.

"Not all of our patients are… exemplary, I'm afraid," said Dr. Burton. He rolled his eyes as they passed the next door. "Case in point…"

This door was labelled 'Doe, J.' and a much more cheerful, albeit scarred, face pressed against the glass.

"I'm only here so long as it's funny, y'know," said the scarred face. "And the joke's starting to get old…" As if his scars didn't already resemble a grin, he smiled wide and laughed a haunting laugh that echoed down the halls. The guards didn't even bother trying to silence him; they knew it was pointless.

"Ah," said Dr. Burton as they reached their destination. "This'll be your room, Jervis…"

"I'm the Hatter! The Hatter!" Jervis shouted. "I have said it thrice! What I tell you three times is true!"

Dr. Burton simply sighed. "Yes, yes, very good. I'm afraid due to recent… increases in our population; you shall be sharing a room. Don't worry… He's harmless…"

The guards deposited Tetch in his new home and locked the door behind him. Jervis simply stared out the window, only vaguely aware of the other man sitting behind him.

"Hello," said his cellmate, his voice small and gentle. "What's your name?"

"Hatter," said Jervis.

"Hello, Mister Hatter," said the man. "My name's Edgar."

"It's a stupid name enough," said Jervis. "What does it mean?"

"Oh, um… I'm not sure," said Edgar. There was a tense few moments of silence before Edgar asked "What happened to you, Mister Hatter?"

"I could tell you my adventures, beginning from this morning," said Tetch, "but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then…

"Alice…" he whispered to himself, stroking the glass pane in front of him. "I'll never see her again… No! She wasn't Alice! Not the right one, anywise… I need to find the real Alice! Younger, prettier… Yes…

"But I'll need my magic hat. My beautiful, marvellous hat! It makes things shiny and clear!"

"What happened to your magic hat, Mr. Hatter?" asked Edgar.

"It was broken," said Jervis. "Broken by a great black bat… The Jabberwocky…"

"Oh," said Edgar with cheer in his voice again. "If it's broken, I can fix it! I'm good at fixing things, I am!"

Tetch turned to look at his cellmate for the first time. He saw a huge, rotund man who barely fit upon the bed he sat on, his face filled with a childlike smile.

"Curiouser," said Jervis, "and curiouser…"

_

* * *

_

I charm in vain; for never again,

_All keenly as my glance I bend,_

_Will Memory, goddess coy,_

_Embody for my joy,_

_Departed days, nor let me gaze_

_On thee, my fairy friend!_

_--"To My Child-Friend", Lewis Carroll (1886)_

* * *

Special thanks to: Bob Kane, Bill Finger, Christopher and Jonathan Nolan, David S. Goyer, Bruce Timm and Paul Dini.

Reviews, both positive and negative, are always welcome. If you enjoyed this; be advised that I am considering a follow-up, but for the moment I'm working on a Justice League story for the "Comics" section. Thanks for reading.


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